


Pas de Deux

by HeyBoy, WinterSabbath



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Ballet Dancer Steve Rogers, Ballet Prodigy Bucky Barnes, Internalized Homophobia, La Sylphide - Freeform, M/M, Professional Ballet, Slow Burn, Swan Lake - Freeform, ballet dancer bucky barnes, ballet school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyBoy/pseuds/HeyBoy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSabbath/pseuds/WinterSabbath
Summary: “You might wanna stand a bit farther from me,” Bucky said. Those words made Steve’s smile falter for the very first time.“Huh?”Bucky tilted his head at the group. “I don’t really have friends.”Steve shrugged. “You’re better company,” he said, as if that explained everything.OR Ballet prodigy Bucky Barnes is a bit of a loner. He never really saw the point of having friends. Not when all his time and energy was focused on becoming better at ballet.Enter Steve Rogers, the new student and Bucky's roommate.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 226
Kudos: 185





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This fic is written for the Stucky Blind Date (and was supposed to be posted in December but life happened), so here it is! A month late. 
> 
> The art included here (AND the banner!) is by [HeyBoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyBoy), a wonderful artist and person who was so supportive of this fic!
> 
> Special thanks to [Ree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weethreequarter) who volunteered to beta read this and helped me fix it a lot of things <3

#  _Part 1_

Of the sixteen years Bucky Barnes walked the Earth, he had loved ballet for twenty of them.

There was no exact moment he fell in love with the art—he had loved it for as long as he had been practicing it, and he had been practicing it for as long as he had known it.

All his ballet experience came from New York, although he did intend, at one point, to receive some form of training in Russia as well. His mom had signed him up for the School of American Ballet—SAB for short—much to his father’s dismay. Prior to the school, Bucky had attended minor classes or workshops in little schools around Brooklyn—classes where all he did was walk, stretch, and run. He watched the older classes do more complicated maneuvers, trying to mimic them. Alas, his legs were much too clumsy and hands hardly coordinated; he did not look as graceful as he’d hoped to be.

SAB was Bucky’s chance to prove himself and prove himself he did. He aimed to be the best of the best, and at sixteen years old, he _was—_ at least, among those of his own age group.

At fourteen years old, Bucky was eligible to live in SAB, and this was all he had ever wanted. His days were spent between his room and rehearsing. Friends were scarce, but it didn’t bother him. He could be convivial if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Everyone was, after all, more a competitor than a comrade.

Thus, he was far from impressed as he stood in front of his dorm adviser. The DA was a short bald man named Jasper Sitwell who barely spared a smile for anyone. He was looking at Bucky with raised eyebrows, almost challenging.

Bucky folded his arms, unimpressed. “I told you last time,” he said, “I refuse to room with anyone, period. Cleaning up after someone is time better spent practicing.” His first year in SAB had been spent with a nightmare of a roommate who refused to clean up _anything_ , and it drove Bucky mad.

“You don’t have a choice, Barnes,” Sitwell said, turning to walk away.

In the complete view of absolutely no one, Bucky threw a finger at the back of Sitwell’s head. _Fuck you_ , he mouthed, opening the door to his room to begin clearing the other bed for his new _roommate_.

“If he’s a fucking slob, I’m going to put a snake on his bed,” he muttered.

The room was already clean—he was organized like that—so it only took a few minutes to make it even cleaner, so the new kid won’t have anything to complain about.

As Bucky dug through his closet to prepare his outfit for the day (which was an outfit for every day, really), the door creaked open slowly. Bucky glanced up to watch as a short blond boy stuck his head inside, lips pursed. “Uh, hey,” the boy said, “Are you James?”

Bucky wrinkled his nose at the name. “Sure. Call me Bucky.” He turned to face his closet again, then, absentmindedly, he said: “You Steve?”

“Yeah.” The door opened wider this time. Bucky snuck another glance, and that was when he realized just how short this boy was. He looked like he was ten, but that couldn’t be possible. He had to be fourteen, at least, since that was the age requirement. Unless he _was_ ten and SAB made an exception.

Steve had a bag hefted on his shoulder, and he smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgement.

Most people would take that as a sign that the conversation had come to an end. Steve, however, was undeterred. He walked inside, talking. “Why’d you choose to go with the name Bucky?” he asked. “Doesn’t sound much like a dancer.”

Bucky swiveled around, offended. Steve didn’t even look like much of a dancer, and Bucky didn’t say anything! The _nerve_ of this kid.

Steve was still smiling. “I mean, James Barnes would look better on the headlines. Bucky’s more personal, though.” He shrugged, looking at Bucky with shining eyes. “I like it.”

The outburst died in Bucky’s throat at Steve’s unexpected words. He tilted his head, his mouth parted open in surprise. “Headlines?”

Waving a hand in the air, Steve set his bag down on the floor and sat at the edge of his bed. “I just figured you’re sort of a prodigy. Your face is on the brochures and posters downstairs, and I saw your name a couple of times on the medals and trophies on display.”

“Not a prodigy,” Bucky said, though it felt more convincing this time. Often, when people told him that, he preened at the words, taking it as praise. This time, he shook his head adamantly. “I just love ballet.” That was the truth.

Steve nodded.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Since I was six.” Bucky pulled out his dance belt and tights.

“Wow, that’s long. I started at eight.”

“I joined SAB at six, but I started ballet at three.”

Steve gaped at him, dumbfounded, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a flash of pride at having impressed him.

“I have classes today,” Bucky said after a moment of silence. He waved his dance belt in the air, unashamed. Steve had arrived a week later into the program, and Bucky was tempted to ask why. However, that would mean more talking, and Bucky was not eager to be late.

“Oh! Me too. Got my schedule and everything.” Steve unzipped his bag and waved his schedule in the air. “I’m already a week late so I’ve got to start soon. I’m in 1MA.”

That was certainly surprising. Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. Block 1MA was for the best of the best, and mostly composed of students ages 17-18. Bucky had been in it since he was 14.

“1MA?” Bucky repeated, just to make sure.

“Yup.”

“How _old_ are you, exactly?”

Instead of the offended look that most people would make at a question with such incredulity, Steve laughed. He laughed for a good thirty seconds, clutching the bed sheets. Bucky could only watch on awkwardly, face pinched in concern.

Steve gathered his composure, still smiling. “I’m fifteen. You probably thought I was ten, huh?”

“Twelve, maybe.” Bucky folded his arms. “We’re in the same block.” So that meant Steve was good. Maybe not as good as Bucky, maybe better. If he were better, though, it would do Bucky well to keep his distance.

“Oh, nice,” was all Steve’s response. “Better get ready then.”

With a wary eye, Bucky nodded in assent.

* * *

Bucky had his own little corner in the rehearsal studio where he liked to warm up. No one dared approach him—not when one look from him screamed _fuck off_. He was left alone.

Usually.

Steve stood in front of him, already dressed and ready. He propped a leg on the bar, his smile never leaving his face. “Hey.”

Bucky nodded. There was a small group across the room who were already whispering amongst themselves, throwing occasional glances at Bucky and Steve. Bucky knew that, as teenagers, the gossip was endless—even between boys. Of course, _Barnes is rehearsing with someone_ would likely be the center of gossip for at least a week.

“You might wanna stand a bit farther from me,” Bucky said. Those words made Steve’s smile falter for the very first time.

“Huh?”

Bucky tilted his head at the group. “I don’t really have friends.” He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. That had been his choice. He chose to focus on ballet above everything else. There was nothing, _no one_ , that could make him be afraid to say so.

Steve barely took the time to look at them. “You’re better company,” he said, as if that explained everything.

That was the end of that conversation.

The doors opened once again, and their teacher walked in. Mr. Laufeyson was quite young, still in his prime. Bucky sometimes wondered why he had decided to go down the path of teaching instead of performing. He never really had the opportunity to ask. Laufeyson terrified him. He was an amazing teacher, though.

“We have a new student,” Laufeyson announced. He gestured at Steve. “Steve Rogers. I trust you will all welcome him properly.” Then, he moved on to instruct them through warmups and bar exercises.

Ballet, Bucky loved. But there was no amount of love he could give the dance that could overcome the boredom of slowly moving through the bar exercises. They were helpful, yes, but they were boring.

Laufeyson walked around the room, making sure everyone was doing the movements correctly. He did not really have to correct much. After all, the students in their block were better trained than most.

“He’s kinda scary,” Steve whispered while he talked to a student on the other side of the room. Bucky was not able to warn him in time.

Laufeyson was looking at them within seconds. “Rogers, would you like to share something to the class?”

Bucky grimaced but just stared at Steve.

Steve looked at their teacher sideways, a flush creeping up his cheeks. “No, sir. Sorry.”

Laufeyson didn’t berate him, mostly because he didn’t really need to. Steve _had_ been genuinely apologetic, from the looks of it, and he could easily get his point across with a stern look.

Bucky bit his lip to keep from laughing. _He is_ , he mouthed.

Steve rolled his eyes. The red on his face died down, and there was a small upturn to the side of his mouth as he breathed a sigh of relief.

After warm-ups, they began a new routine—probably for Steve’s sake. Steve, at first, was insistent on standing beside Bucky, but Laufeyson didn’t allow that. _First of all_ , he had said, _I need to monitor you since you’re a week behind_. _Second of all_ , then he gestured at Steve, not finishing his sentence. Steve was short, was what he meant, and Bucky was positioned at the back. If Steve joined him, he would barely be seen.

Steve being in front meant that Bucky could see everything he did, and, _wow_ , was Bucky surprised by how elegant of a dancer Steve was.

* * *

Bucky didn’t mean to, really, but as they leaned on the wall, exhausted after hours of practice, he blurted out: “Do you want to eat lunch together?” Because although Steve had talked and talked during every break they had, not once did Bucky find himself irritated.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, easy-going and all. He pushed off the wall and rested his hands on his bent knees. “There’s a cafeteria, right? Saw it on the tour.”

It was inevitable that, as they entered the cafeteria, Grant Ward called out to them with a nasty smirk from where he sat with a bunch of other students. It was the Asshole Group, as Bucky liked to refer to them from time to time. “Barnes made a friend. Wonder how long _that_ will last,” Ward told the person next to him, voice deliberately loud so Bucky and Steve couldn’t miss it.

Before Bucky could tell Steve to just walk on and ignore them, Steve clenched his fists, turning to face them. “What did you just say?”

Ward cocked an eyebrow, leaning back. “You heard me.”

“Steve, come on,” Bucky muttered, tugging Steve’s wrist. “Not worth it, trust me.”

“He just—”

Bucky grit his teeth. “It’s your first day. Don’t cause a scene.”

Steve glanced between Bucky and Ward. Fortunately, some good amount of sense hit him, because he merely huffed out an angry breath and allowed Bucky to lead them both away from the table. “You shouldn’t let them push you around.”

“I don’t really care,” Bucky said. He wasn’t lying. “They can say what they want. At the end of the day, I’m better than them.”

Steve snorted despite himself. “Yeah, you are.” He paused, eyeing the Asshole Group from a distance. “I can see why you choose not to have friends. I mean, if they’re all like _that_ , I’d rather be alone too.”

Bucky bent down to take two trays and handed one to Steve. “They’re the worst of the bunch. A lot of people here are nice. I just don’t really have time for friends.”

Steve stared at him for a long moment, long enough to make Bucky uncomfortable. Then: “What about us? Aren’t we friends?”

“Uh…”

Smacking Bucky with a light hand, Steve chuckled. “Either way, you’ll have to put up with me as a roommate. Friends might not be so bad.”

“Well…” Bucky gave him a small smile. “I suppose I have time for _one_ friend.”

Steve smiled back, relieved. Once they had their food in hand, they walked over to an empty table, which, as it happened, was right next to a poster with Bucky’s face on it. “I don’t know if I love or hate this wall,” Bucky admitted as he stared up at his face.

Steve shook his head. “That can’t be the worst picture. Your face is on the bus.”

“ _That_ I’m proud of,” Bucky said, “since I don’t have to see it every day. Plus, it isn’t zoomed in.” The bus had Bucky and a couple of other students for promotional purposes. It was something he had rubbed into Ward’s face (and the rest of the gang). His bragging had been more along the lines of _yeah, well, at least my face doesn’t drive people away from this place_. Petty argument, maybe, but they were still teenagers, after all.

Bucky watched as Steve shoved peas into his mouth. The longer he stared, he realized all Steve had were vegetables. Bucky frowned, poking at his own meat. “Are you vegan or something?”

Steve shook his head, biting down on his spoon. “Not really,” he mumbled, the sound coming out muffled. He took the spoon out. “I just have to watch what I eat.”

Bucky paused, confused. “Why?”

“I get sick easily. I mean,” he gestured at his small self. “My body’s not the best. Clearly.”

“You dance well, though.” Because he did. Begrudging as it was for Bucky to admit, Steve Rogers was, in fact, a good dancer.

“Thanks,” Steve said, ducking his head down with an awkward laugh. “I try.”

* * *

Their schedules differed in the afternoon. Afternoon classes were mostly academic, but they didn’t take place in SAB itself. Instead, students had the option to either attend online classes or walk to the small high school that was three- blocks away. The school was called Professional Children’s School or PCS, but despite its name it did, in fact, cater to teenagers. It was in partnership with SAB, so most of the students in Bucky’s class were from SAB too.

Steve, however, had opted to go for online classes to limit the physical activity he did. _My ma’s a bit paranoid; she doesn’t want me walking more than I should_ , he claimed with a roll of his eyes.

Most students walked to PCS in groups. Bucky kept to himself. They were chaperoned by a teacher, but for some reason there was the occasional one or two students (usually a romantic couple) who managed to slip out for a little while to go on a date without being caught.

Bucky listened in class (enough to pass), but he never made any real effort to study outside the classroom’s four walls. He never planned to use Math as a principal dancer in the future anyway— _Principal dancer_ in a well-respected company was the goal. It was that or nothing.

As soon as the string of lectures were over and they were back on campus, Bucky headed for the rehearsal studios. He’d be damned if someone managed to take his favorite rehearsal room. There was only one room in the school whose door didn’t have a window. Bucky loved that room because that meant no one could observe him as they passed by. He didn’t like being watched while practicing on his own.

As he ran across the hallway to the rehearsal rooms, he jogged past the men’s bathroom in time to hear a familiar voice say, _I can do this all day,_ followed by a thud.

Even in his hurry, Bucky couldn’t help the concern that slowed down his feet. He stopped by the bathroom, frowning. There was a loud crash, and that was when Bucky decided to step inside to see if Steve was alright.

Steve was not alright.

Grant Ward, with his back turned to Bucky, hovered over Steve with fists clenched. Steve, on the other hand, was sprawled on the floor, already amid pushing himself up.

“Hey!” Bucky snapped, pulling Ward back by the shoulder. Dropping his bag on the floor, Bucky landed a punch on Ward’s face, spinning him around and shoving him into a wall. “Leave my friend alone,” Bucky growled.

Nose bleeding, Ward looked at Bucky with watery eyes. An amused smile crossed his lips. “You don’t have any goddamn friends, Barnes.” Then he punched Bucky back.

“The fuck!” Bucky yelled, holding his broken nose. He wiped a finger on his face, only to find blood on his thumb. With a growl, he grabbed Ward once again, kicking open a bathroom stall behind him. Ward was weaker, so it was easy to drag him inside. Later, Bucky would wonder what the hell overcame him as he shoved Ward’s face over the toilet water, only short of giving him a swirlie.

“What the fuck, Barnes?!” Ward thrashed in Bucky’s arms, trying to get free. “Alright. Alright! Jesus, I’ll leave the twink alone.” He tried pushing Bucky’s arm away. “Let me go!”

Bucky glanced at the toilet water. He wrinkled his nose and pulled Ward back up, pushing him out the stall. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Ward fixed his clothes, though it did nothing to fix his overall appearance. He walked backwards to the door, giving Bucky a disgusted look. He glanced at Steve (who was already standing and sitting on the sink). “He’s fucking crazy, dude,” he spat and then fled.

With only the two of them left, Steve hopped off the counter and got some tissue paper. “I had him on the ropes.”

Bucky took the tissue Steve handed him. He walked to the mirror, observing his nose. It hurt like hell. Definitely broken. “You were on the floor.” While he wiped the blood off, he took a glance at Steve, appalled to find that Steve’s eye had taken a beating. “Steve—”

“I’m fine,” Steve said. “You’re bleeding.”

“Your eye is bruised!”

“We should get you cleaned up.”

Bucky gaped at him. “ _Me?_ Have you _seen_ yourself?”

“You’re the one bleeding,” Steve muttered, pointing at Bucky’s face. It was as if he hadn’t taken a glimpse of his own face yet.

“We should go to the nurse.”

“No!” Steve all but screamed, his hands outstretched in fear that Bucky would run off on him and be a tattletale (not that Bucky was even _planning_ to). “She’ll ask questions.”

Bucky pinched his eyebrows in concern. He’d assumed Steve would be the first person to want to tell a teacher or staff member about Ward. “What’s so wrong about that? Ward attacked you.”

The way Steve quickly faltered and clammed up told Bucky that he knew what Bucky was thinking. Steve was already flushed red from the fighting, but he grew even redder as he stared at the marble sink, eyes fixated on one spot.

“Ward didn’t attack me,” he mumbled. It was so soft; had it not been for the eerie silence and enclosed area, Bucky would not have heard.

“Wait, what?”

“He, uh. Um.” Steve puffed his cheeks up. “I punched him first.”

“What?”

Steve finally looked up and stomped his foot on the floor like a child. “He was saying shit about you, okay? He was trying to convince me you were an asshole or whatever, so I told him to shut up. But he wouldn’t. So. So.” He grimaced. “I punched him. And missed.”

At the last part, Bucky bit his lip to keep the laughter down. “I honestly don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Do you–do you think Ward’s gonna tell someone?”

Bucky snorted. “Hell no. His ego’s going to need some time to heal.” Bucky smiled down at Steve, rolling his eyes. He bent down to get his bag and hooked an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “Come on, we should get some ice for your eye.”

“I can fix your nose.”

“Well, that’s good. ‘Cause I can’t.”

Steve sighed. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your day.”

Bucky thought about his rehearsal room—someone had definitely occupied it by now. He shook his head. “Nah. I was heading back to the dorm anyway.”

* * *

There was, thankfully, ice in the mini fridge. Bucky wrapped it in a hand towel and gave it to Steve.

“Hold on.” Steve set down the towel on his bed. To which Bucky raised his eyebrows and slowly picked it up, placing it on the desk.

“Do you want to sleep on a cold bed or something?” Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged. He walked over to Bucky, reaching a hand up to touch Bucky’s nose. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“Are you _sure_ you know what you’re doing?”

“My mom’s a nurse. I get in a lot of fights.” He grinned. “Do the math.”

“I fuckin’ hate math.” Bucky sat down on the edge of Steve’s bed, right beside the small wet spot that had already formed.

Steve laughed. Giggled, actually. He _giggled_. “That’s not the point.”

“My bad.” Steve leaned in closer, steadying himself on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky kept talking. “Why’d you get into fights?”

“I stick my nose in other people’s business, I guess. Only when I think something’s wrong or the person is being disrespectful.”

Bucky smirked. “You’re just a spitfire of righteous fury, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” Steve adjusted his hand, hovering over Bucky’s nose. “Okay, try to avoid screaming.”

“Why would—” _crack_ “—Holy fucking _shit_!”

Bucky almost bent over in pain. He breathed in deeply, biting his cheek so hard he was sure he had injured himself again. After a few seconds of breathing and Steve laughing softly, Bucky patted his nose and looked up. The pain, after the initial sharp stab that was akin to being shot (Maybe. Bucky had never been shot, so he didn’t know for sure), subsided quite fast. There was still a lingering throb, but it wasn’t the most painful thing.

“That hurt,” Bucky whimpered.

Steve grinned, pumping his fist in the air. “It’s fixed now!”

Bucky glared unconvincingly at the triumphant look on Steve’s face. “That hurt,” he repeated.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” Steve sat down beside him, the ice already in his hand. He pressed it to his other eye, the mirth not leaving his face.

“I can’t believe I’m rooming with such an asshole,” said Bucky. That statement couldn’t be further from the truth. Out of all the things Steve was, an asshole was not one of them. Bucky had only known Steve for a short while ( _very_ short while), but he was sure of that fact.

“Yeah, well, I’m rooming with a baby. Wanna trade places?”

Bucky looked at him, taken aback. The laugh that left his mouth was more that of disbelief than joy. “You are such a—such a _punk_.”

Steve threw his head back, unable to hold in a boisterous laugh. He laughed for a good minute, the ice nearly slipping out of his hands. “Of all the insults,” he said between gasps of breaths, “Of _all_ the insults. Punk? Really? Who calls anyone a punk anymore?”

Bucky huffed, folding his arms. “At least I was being unique.”

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

“Shut up.”

“Alright, jerk.”

“Jerk’s not unique.”

“So?”

“I’m more creative.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “You didn’t _invent_ the word punk, Bucky.”

Bucky could only respond with an indignant _hmph_ and a: “Shut up, punk.”

Steve stared at him with a wide eye (the other one was buried behind cloth and ice). His mouth was opened, a retort ready to spill. Then he laughed all over again.

It took a long while to get Steve to stop, but Bucky wasn’t all that bothered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is finished and I will be updating it every two days. Please tell me what you all think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


	2. Chapter 2

It was on the eighteenth day since Steve had moved in that Bucky was hit with a sudden fact.

 _Steve was his friend_.

There was something both exciting _and_ disconcerting about that. Here was Bucky Barnes, well-known loner and asshole, with a _friend_. No distractions, Bucky had promised himself at ten years old. That was around the time he had cut off most of his childhood friends. He practiced too much, they said, and there was no point in being his friend because he barely showed up anywhere that wasn’t a rehearsal room.

Bucky had willingly let them go. He was ecstatic about it, even, since it meant he had more time to spend on ballet.

Now, though, as Bucky stared at Steve’s sleeping figure tucked under a blanket in the dim light, Bucky could not shake the thought of _friendship_ out of his head. Weirdly enough, he did not feel any need to push Steve away. In fact, he _liked_ Steve’s company.

Plus, Steve never complained whenever Bucky would tell him he couldn’t hang out because he wanted— _needed_ —to rehearse.

Steve was good company, Bucky decided.

* * *

Steve wanted to leave the campus.

It was Saturday, so they _could_ leave. They had their parents’ permission and everything (Steve had convinced his mom that Bucky would be with him at all times in case something happened. He even _forced_ Bucky to get on the phone with Sarah Rogers to ease her worries. That had been quite the terrifying conversation).

Only… Bucky realized, as he stood in front of the front desk, he had never really _left_ campus if he wasn’t going to PCS or heading home for the break. He’d never really left just _because_. So, when Steve asked him where he usually went on the weekends, Bucky licked his lips, awkwardly looking around the busy street with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“The rehearsal studio,” was Bucky’s only possible response.

Steve raised his eyebrows, his mouth forming a small _oh_ that he didn’t quite say. As quick as the reaction came, it left, and Steve was clapping his hands and smiling. “That’s alright. We can explore together.”

Bucky snorted. “You never been around Lincoln before?”

“Ma doesn’t trust me to go off on my own, so unless it was with her, then no.”

“What about with friends?”

Steve looked away. He left the question hanging in the air, but Bucky was pretty familiar with the response, since it was the same sort of response he gave his sisters when they asked him how his friends were in school. Although he _did_ reply with a ‘just ask me about ballet, okay?’ because that was all that mattered.

That response easily translated to _I don’t really have friends to hang out with_.

Which was sad because it didn’t look like Steve voluntarily decided that he didn’t want to have much social interaction. Bucky, at least, made the choice. Steve was as friendly as they came.

“There’s an opera house we pass by on the way to PCS,” Bucky said instead.

Steve gave him a weird look. “What are we going to do there?”

“I dunno.” Bucky shrugged. “Wanna visit Juilliard?” Juilliard was right next to SAB. The only things between the two schools were a cinema and church.

Steve laughed softly. “How about we just go look for a café?”

Bucky grinned. “That works too.”

They found a café that was only a ten-minute walk away. They had passed a Starbucks beforehand, but Steve shook his head, insisting they ought to find something more unique.

“Why’d you choose SAB?” Steve asked him when they were seated in the corner of the café, two slices of cake in front of them.

“It’s one of the best schools _and_ it still allows me easy access to my sister in case she needs me.”

Steve perked up at that. “Sister?”

“I don’t see her too often, though. Because… well.” Bucky waved a hand through the air in a gesture that meant absolutely nothing.

“Let me guess. You rehearse?” When Bucky simply laughed, Steve continued, “To be honest I’d have expected someone at your level to want to go to Royal Ballet or something.”

“Well, if I went abroad, my top pick would be Russia.”

“Bolshoi or Vaganova?”

“They’re both good. But Bolshoi Ballet _Company_ would be great. I’m planning to audition there after school. That or American Ballet. Or Paris Opera. The top companies.” Bucky stabbed his cake with a fork and looked at Steve.

“There’s only ever been one American to go to Bolshoi,” Steve said. He looked Bucky up and down as though examining him, then smiled. “You’ll be the second, I’m sure.”

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbled, head down. Even after all the compliments adults gave him and the jealousy his classmates had, Steve’s reaction _almost_ had him blushing. “What about you?”

“Anywhere’s good.”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky kicked his foot, “I’m sure you’ve got something in mind!”

“Yeah, okay. ABT, then. Going to the Bolshoi involves learning Russian.” Steve wrinkled his nose. “Don’t think I’m cut out for that.”

“ _Почему нет_?” Bucky whined with a grin. _Why not?_

Steve raised his eyebrows. “You know Russian?”

“I know enough basic conversation to get me by. My mom’s best friend’s Russian, and she came over to ours a lot when I was young, so I picked up a few things.”

Steve was looking at him with wide-eyed wonder. “You are full of surprises, Barnes.”

* * *

Later that night (or early in the morning the next day, rather) Bucky was woken by gasps on the other side of the room, and the first thought that ran through his mind was _Holy fuck, Steve’s mom’s going to kill me_.

The first thing he did was fumble for the light switch, and then he looked at Steve in panic. Steve was sitting upright on the bed, his breathing erratic as he flailed around in an effort to find something to steady himself.

“Is there—is there—” Bucky glanced at Steve’s bag. “Do you have any medicine or something? What do I do?”

Of course, Steve couldn’t reply. But he was able to point at the bag, which Bucky handed over to him. Steve patted the front pocket, and Bucky found an inhaler inside and gave it to Steve.

Once Steve had used the inhaler, taking deep, shuddering breaths, they sat in silence for a moment until Steve pulled himself together.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he said after a minute of steady breaths.

Bucky almost punched him then and there.

“I thought you were gonna die!”

Steve shrugged and opened one of the drawers on his nightstand. “I get asthma attacks a lot. I’m used to it.” He took out a pencil and a leather-bound notebook, flipping it open. As he flipped through a few pages, Bucky caught glimpses of sketches throughout the notebook.

“You draw?” Bucky asked, a bit surprised.

“It, uh, calms me down,” Steve said, looking sheepish. His pencil hovered over the paper. “I’m not that good, but it’s just a thing I do. After an attack, usually.”

Bucky nodded and stood from Steve’s bed, resisting the urge to look at the notebook since Steve already looked self-conscious about it. His knees were drawn up, his arms covering most of the notebook.

Bucky wondered what it was like to have another hobby. To have something else to do for fun. All his life had been about ballet, and there was nothing else he was passionate about nor the least bit interested in other than dance. It felt like he had tunnel vision, sometimes, to have his sights only set on one goal: to be the best.

Steve watched as Bucky walked back to his own bed. “You should go back to sleep.”

“It’s 4 anyway.” Bucky usually woke up at 5:30 am. “I might as well get ready.”

“You’re gonna rehearse again, huh?” Steve asked, but he wasn’t mocking.

Bucky knew his schedule was as predictable as it could get, so he wasn’t too offended. “Yeah, I am.”

“Can I come with?”

 _That_ Bucky was not expecting. “Uh…”

Bucky’s silence lasted a bit too long, it seemed, since Steve was already tugging the blankets up to his chest, saying, “It’s fine if I can’t. I get it. Not wanting others to watch sometimes.”

“It’s not…” There was nothing Bucky could say, really. Steve was right to an extent. Performing on-stage was one thing. At that point, Bucky was well-rehearsed and had eased into the role. Rehearsing alone usually meant working on a lot of mistakes and imperfections and trying to get them done right. Bucky didn’t want anyone—not even Steve—seeing that. Teachers were fine because he could learn from them. Audiences were a different matter. He looked down at the floor. “Sorry.”

Steve scoffed. “Don’t be sorry.” He patted his notebook as if to say _I’m not gonna be bored or anything_ and smiled. “I’ll see you at breakfast later, yeah?”

Bucky forced a reciprocating smile and nodded.

Once he was dressed, he bid a soft goodbye to Steve, shutting the door quietly behind him.

The halls were still quiet, and Bucky wasn’t really supposed to be out and about. Well, students weren’t exactly expected to be awake at such an early hour. But if he could find Mr. Laufeyson or even Ms. Hill, the teacher for girls in Advanced, then he would have permission to use a rehearsal room.

“Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky turned around to see Sitwell looking at him, eyebrows raised. “What are you doing?”

“Uh.” Bucky pointed at the elevator. “I was gonna go rehearse.”

“Rehearse for _what?_ It’s the start of the term—”

“That’s alright, Jasper, I’ll take it from here.”

 _Oh, thank god_. Bucky looked back to see Ms. Hill approaching with a stern look on her face. Except Bucky had done enough one on one sessions with her to know that that look was more _amused_ than angry.

Since Sitwell was only a Dorm Adviser and Hill was one of the most well-respected teachers in SAB, there was nothing he could do but suppress a roll of his eyes and walk away with a huff, muttering quietly to himself.

“I presume you want to use a studio?” Hill asked after Sitwell disappeared into the next hall.

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You rehearse too much, James.”

He wrinkled his nose. He hated it when people said that. There was no such thing as rehearsing _too much_. There was rehearsing and then there was not rehearsing. Right now, he was doing the latter and he didn’t like it.

Hill laughed at his reaction. “Alright, come on. You want me to give you some one-to-one or are you just rehearsing for fun?” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got the time.”

“One-to-one would be nice, ma’am.” Bucky pressed the elevator button. “Haven’t done that in a while.”

“Haven’t done one with Mr. Laufeyson this term yet?”

“Nope. I tried to ask, but he’s been busy.” Laufeyson was a great teacher, and he knew how to teach male movements better than Hill did. The only problem Bucky had with him (ever since Laufeyson became his teacher two years ago) was that it was hard to get a private session with him. Hill was more readily available, so even if she stopped being Bucky’s main instructor when he turned thirteen, he still went to her sometimes.

As Bucky did warm-up stretches, Hill watched him with a stoic expression. Once he was done, he looked back at her. “I’ll probably improvise a bit first. I’m not really working on anything specific right now.” He tilted his head. “Unless you can tell me what this year’s performance will be?”

“You’ll know when everyone knows,” Hill said with a smile. She walked over to the sound system, and then watched him get into position before pressing play.

The music is a piano piece that is mostly played in staccato, a piece that Bucky is only slightly familiar with. His movements jump into _allegro_ —fast, brisk, and lively. He did a _pas de chat_ , his legs feeling light beneath him, just barely gracing the ground. There was a small smile on his face as he did it, and he glanced at himself in the mirror every so often as he moved through his improvisation.

Somewhere in the middle, as the music sped up, Bucky attempted a fouetté, spinning on his left leg while his right whipped in the air every turn. The first fifteen turns weren’t so much an _attempt_ —they came naturally. At twenty, he clenched his jaw, trying to work through the music. He wanted to do at least thirty, but at twenty-three, his leg collapsed underneath him and he fell to the floor.

There was no pain, really, except the bruise to his ego. His right hand had caught him before anything too bad could happen to his legs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling himself up again.

Hill had already shut off the music and went over to him. “You alright?”

Bucky nodded. He got into fourth position and gestured at the speakers. “Play that part again.”

“How many were you trying to do?”

Bucky looked at himself in the mirror. “Much as I can.”

“No number?”

He grunted. “Thirty-two.”

“It’s not about the quantity of turns, James.”

“I _know_ ,” he huffed. “But it felt right with the music.”

She hummed and stood next to him; her hand hovered just a few inches over his waist. “Alright if I touch you?”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Bucky snorted, “You’ve been teaching me since I was seven.”

“I still have to ask,” Hill said. She began to adjust his form a little. “Retiré,” she said and Bucky lifted his right leg, folding it into the shape of a triangle, his foot just a little above his knee cap.

“You’re arching your back too much,” she said, one hand resting on his spine. She manually fixed his position by pushing his shoulders gently. She instructed him to do the turn again. “Better.”

He did the piece once more. He wasn’t able to get to the thirty-two he aimed for, but he stood up and tried again. Hill instructed him to fix certain parts of his form, and he took it all in stride, trying to keep them in mind with every repetition he did.

It all relied on repetition, after all. Repetition until it was perfect. He _was_ going to get it perfect.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Bucky passed by a rehearsal room, and from his peripheral, he saw a familiar flop of blond hair doing a _jeté—_ legs spread in the air mid-jump.

It had never really dawned on Bucky that Steve rehearsed on his own. Of course, it was obvious that he did, given that this place wasn’t exactly overflowing with things to do.

Instead of knocking on the door, Bucky stood by the window, watching as Steve did an arabesque. The walls were soundproof, but Bucky could feel the vibrations of the music through the door that he leaned on. This is the first time, really, that he had actually seen Steve _dance_.

And it was beautiful.

Holy _shit_ , it was beautiful.

Bucky, usually ever so keen on ripping apart his co-students’ performances and mentally tearing down their techniques, was mesmerized by Steve’s dancing. It was not perfect, by any means, but there was a vulnerability to his dance with the way his feet gently padded across the ground like he was walking on water. Steve’s dancing looked like something one would expect from a female dancer, but he pulled it off so flawlessly, and Bucky could not look away.

Hell, Bucky couldn’t even bring himself to critique a single thing.

Bucky stood there for a while, up until Steve landed his final position. Before Steve could turn to see him creepily watching, though, he backed away from the door and walked back to where he came from.

* * *

“What’s that?”

Bucky looked up from his phone in time to see Steve walk out of the bathroom. It was almost 10 pm. Steve was wearing a loose shirt and pants, and Bucky was already wrapped up in his blankets, playing a video on his phone.

“Oh, just,” Bucky waved his phone in the air, “I’m watching Baryshnikov.”

“Oooh,” Steve walked over and sat on Bucky’s bed, peering at the phone, “is that the Don Quixote one?”

Bucky bit his lip to keep his giddiness in check. “Yeah! You know him?”

“Yeah, ‘course. He’s amazing.”

“One of my favorites. Or Sergei.” Bucky shifted on the bed to make space for Steve. “Look at how high he jumps.” He pointed at Baryshnikov on the screen. “And how well he embodies the character. I want to be as good as him some day.”

Steve invited himself under Bucky’s blankets without a care for personal space. Bucky didn’t find it too odd either, and they watched the performance together.

“You’re probably going to be better,” Steve said when the solo ended. “I know you will.”

“Careful. My ego might get too big.”

“You deserve to be proud of what you can do.” He reached over and minimized the screen to choose another video. He paused and tilted his head. “Hey, wanna watch the entirety of Don Quixote?”

Bucky did like the idea of that, but there was one problem. He frowned. “Lights out is at ten. That means Wi-Fi’s out too.”

Instead of being thoroughly disappointed, Steve just grinned and rolled out the bed. He got his own phone and slid back in beside Bucky. “I’ve got it downloaded.”

“Oh.” Bucky shoved his phone away excitedly. “ _Yes_.”

They didn’t really make it to the end of the show. It was about one hour into the performance that Bucky snuck a glance at Steve and found him with his eyes closed. He was leaning on Bucky’s shoulder precariously, breathing steadily in his sleep.

Bucky suppressed a small smile as he paused the show and gently took the phone out of Steve’s hand. He had to lift Steve’s head just to put both their phones on the nightstand. By this time, the lights were already turned off, so it was easy for Bucky to readjust the both of them without waking Steve.

With his face facing the back of Steve’s head, Bucky closed his eyes. It didn’t really occur to him that there was anything off about how close they were sleeping. They were friends, after all. Close friends, even. Well, it was as close as Bucky had ever gotten with someone, at least.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he knew his father would be throwing quite the fit if he saw his only son like this.

* * *

Bucky woke up with his nose buried in blond hair and one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist.

He squinted at the clock that was on his nightstand. It was 10:30 am.

Wait.

Wait.

_10:30 am?!_

“Steve!” he all but screamed, throwing the blanket off the two of them. “ _Steve_!”

Steve, eyes still closed, buried himself further into the pillow and whined at the loss of a blanket. “Huh?”

Bucky shook him frantically. “It’s ten thirty. Laufeyson’s gonna kill us!”

“Want sleep,” Steve mumbled.

“We’re late!”

That got Steve to shoot up from the pillow, sitting ramrod straight. “Why didn’t you say that sooner?”

“Oh for fuck’s—we’ve got to get ready.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. You go use the bathroom first, I’ll lay out our clothes.”

Bucky blinked. “You know where my clothes are?”

Steve rolled his eyes and shoved Bucky away. “Do you even see how _small_ our room is? I see you get dressed every day. Now go!”

The next five minutes were the most hectic five minutes that Bucky had ever experienced. As they stood side by side in the elevator, bags slung over their shoulders, he wrinkled his nose as he adjusted his crotch area.

“I’m pretty sure I put my dance belt on the wrong way,” he grumbled. It was definitely chafing him.

“I didn’t even get to brush my teeth properly.”

“The hell did you do in the bathroom then?”

“I pissed and then gargled water.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh. “You _just_ gargled water.”

“Oh, shut up! At least my thong isn’t chafing me.”

“At least I don’t have morning breath.”

They entered the quiet rehearsal studio in a fit of laughter. Laufeyson was far from impressed.

Their teacher folded his arms, looking at them with the same disappointed expression that Bucky was sure every teacher managed to possess. “And where have you two been?”

Their laughter died down quite fast at that. “Sorry, sir,” Bucky said, “we woke up late.”

“That is not a reason, Mr. Barnes. I expected better of you. And Rogers, you may be new here but I do not tolerate tardiness.” Laufeyson glared at them both. “Stay behind after class. For now, get into position.”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused, glancing at each other and pushing down small smiles, before parting ways.

* * *

“That wasn’t so bad,” Bucky said as they left the studio. Practice felt short, which wasn’t unexpected since they started late. Laufeyson had only given them a stern talking to, saying that Steve was on a tight leash, being a new student and all. Then he added that he expected better of Bucky, and the only reason he was letting them off the hook was because Bucky had been a consistently outstanding student for the past… well, for most of his life, really.

Steve dabbed a towel on his forehead. “Well, I’m just glad I got caught with _you_.” Then, with faux irritation, he added: “He loves you.”

“No need to sound so bitter,” Bucky laughed, hooking an arm around Steve’s shoulder without a care for how sweaty they both were, “I’ve got irresistible charm.”

Steve made a gagging noise.

“Oh, shut up.” Bucky grinned and ruffled Steve’s hair. “You know you love me.”

“Whatever you say,” Steve said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks before Christmas break, Laufeyson announced what their end of year performance would be. Then, as though it was a mere afterthought, he added that auditions would be in one week’s time. Which naturally sent everyone into a state of panic.

“Can’t believe we’re doing _Swan Lake_ ,” Steve grinned when they walked out of the room.

“Which role are you aiming for?” Bucky asked. He was already envisioning the Siegfried variation in his mind.

“I don’t know yet.” Steve shrugged and looked at him. “I bet you’re gonna get a lead role.” Then, before Bucky could respond, he added, “You’d make a good Von Rothbart.”

Eyebrows raised, Bucky gave him a questioning glance. “Why the villain?”

“I see it.”

His eyebrows rose even further, and he fought a smirk that was threatening to make its way to his lips. “You see me as the villain?”

Steve snorted, elbowing him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I was thinking Siegfried, actually.”

“I’ll go for Odette!” Steve announced, his face lighting up childishly. He swiveled around, walking backwards. “Just imagine!” he did a pirouette without stumbling at all. “On pointe!”

Bucky tried to keep the grin from his face as he faked a mournful expression. “But you can’t die on me!”

“We do it together, anyway. ‘Till the end of the line.”

Bucky knew Steve was just fooling around, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit more affected by the words than he should be. It had been months, but it still surreal to him that Steve was his friend.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, almost as an afterthought. He watched as Steve bounded down the hall and did a jeté. “End of the line,” he murmured, mostly to himself. Steve turned and smiled back at him as if he heard it.

—

Bucky wound up auditioning for Siegfried anyway. Although Steve’s suggestion had certainly crossed his mind, Bucky knew that one, people were expecting him to go for the lead role, and two, he was more familiar with Siegfried’s character.

Steve didn’t really mind. He just shrugged when Bucky told him, then said he was going to go for Benno.

After Bucky’s audition, which he nailed, he sat down outside the audition room, leaning on the wall. He and Steve sat side by side. There was something hilarious about the way Bucky’s bent legs were almost as long as Steve’s stretched ones. When Bucky pointed it out, Steve smacked him.

“Shut up,” he huffed.

Bucky chuckled. “It’s kinda funny.”

“Jerk.”

The doors swung open and the latest student stepped out. A teacher walked out and looked around. “Steven Rogers?”

“That’s me.” Steve stood up and gave Bucky a hesitant smile. “See you in a few minutes, I guess.”

Bucky could sense his nerves. He squeezed Steve’s leg and nodded. “You got this.” The two of them had barely seen each other in the past week, both busy with their individual rehearsals, but Bucky was well aware of how hard Steve had worked for the audition.

“Thanks,” Steve said. He followed the teacher into the room.

As the doors closed, one of the Assholes said: “Don’t get why Rogers is here, honestly. As _if_ he would get the part.” That was Stephanie Malick. Bucky had to hold back a scoff. Bold of her to say those words when she wasn’t even in the Advanced class.

Sitting next to her was Brock Rumlow. He nodded in agreement, just like the rest of their little group did. “Right? He’s so fucking short and ugly. No way would he get whatever part he wants.”

“You’re in the same class as him, aren’t you?” Malick asked.

Rumlow sniffed, having the nerve to be offended when he could only ever _dream_ of being as good as Steve. “That very thought disgusts me, honestly. He’s got no talent whatsoever. They should put him as part of the stage crew or something.”

That was the last straw. Bucky turned his head toward them, his arm resting on his bent knee. He glared. “Would you two shut the fuck up?”

Rumlow sat up straighter, trying to assert some sort of dominance he didn’t have. “We weren’t even talking about you, Barnes.”

“Rogers wouldn’t be in Advanced if he wasn’t good. He’s definitely better than _you_.” Bucky pointed at Malick. “As for you, Rumlow. You only have some respect around here because your mom was a Principal for Kirov. You can’t even land properly after a jeté.” Bucky’s eyes widened mockingly as Rumlow’s glare deepened, and he put a hand over his mouth. “Oh! Did I just _expose_ you? My bad.”

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Rumlow spat. “Just because you’re a fucking prodigy doesn’t mean you got any right to flaunt it around.”

Bucky’s grin widened. “Prodigy, huh? You should probably workshop your insults a bit more.”

Rumlow threw him a middle finger.

“Pathetic,” Bucky muttered. He’d won the fight, anyway; he didn’t need to say anything more.

With the two Assholes silenced, Bucky kept his eye on the door, waiting for Steve to come out. He was eager to leave this place, if only to get away from the disgusting people that were seated nearby.

After a few more minutes, Steve was stepping out of the door, looking flushed and happy. Bucky stood, grabbed both their bags, and shot Rumlow a mocking smile.

“See you later, assholes,” he said, then dragged Steve away.

Steve glanced back for a moment but followed Bucky anyway. “What was that about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Bucky assured him. “So, how did the audition go?”

“Good, I guess. If I say it went well, I might jinx my chances of getting the part.”

“You’re definitely getting the part.” Bucky grinned. “We’ll be best friends even in the show!” Once the words tumbled out of his mouth, he frowned and let go of Steve. “I mean—”

Steve, bless him, merely elbowed Bucky and rolled his eyes. “Of course we’re best friends, Buck. Who else is going to shove people down a toilet for me?”

Bucky huffed. “Punk.”

Steve burst out laughing, the sound echoing down the hall. Bucky _really_ hoped Rumlow could hear how happy Steve was.

* * *

Bucky already knew the part was his, but he checked anyway just to make sure. Squeezing himself through the crowd that surrounded the announcement for the results, he managed to get close enough to the small piece of paper in order to see the names.

Sure enough, his name was on the top. _Prince Siegfried – James Barnes._

His eyes skimmed past the rest of the characters and settled on Benno von Sommerstern. Next to it was the name _Grant Ward_.

Bucky blinked, unsure if he read it right. He put his index finger on the paper and followed the line that connected Benno to Ward. He did it again. And again. And again. Then someone shoved him out of the way.

He squirmed back out to the other side of the crowd. Once he was breathing fresh air again, he straightened himself and adjusted his clothes. Steve was walking towards him with a smile. _Shit_. He hadn’t seen it yet.

“Hey, Buck!” Steve put his hand up in a small wave.

Bucky shot one glance at the huddled crowd, then looked back at Steve. “Do you wanna go get ice cream?” he asked, praying Steve would say yes. “I’m craving ice cream.”

“Sure. Just let me look at the results first, yeah?”

“That can wait!” Bucky yelped, pulling Steve away as Steve tried to walk to the board. “Later. When there’s no crowd.”

Steve looked at the grip Bucky’s hand had around his small wrist. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “It’ll just be quick. The ice cream shop’s not gonna melt on you.”

“But!” Bucky scrambled for an explanation. He swallowed, looking around. “Uh. The ice cream I want. Sells out. Fast.” He winced. _What the hell was that?_

“Bucky, what—”

“Hey, Barnes.” Fucking _Rumlow_. The asshole smirked at the two of them, walking by with Ward and two other nondescript students. “Guess my buddy beat out your twink.”

“Don’t take credit for shit,” Bucky shot back, “You don’t even have a proper role.”

That just made Rumlow smirk even more. He pointed at Steve. “Neither does he.”

“You’re probably going to have to fuck your way through adulthood if you ever wanna get a job at a company with the way you dance,” Bucky said, already in the process of walking away, his arm wrapped around Steve shoulder. “So, fuck you!”

“Bucky,” Steve huffed, squirming underneath Bucky’s grip. Once Rumlow was gone, Bucky let go of him. “Buck, what the hell? You could’ve just told me I didn’t get the part.”

“Yeah, well, you _should’ve_.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and looked at Steve. “Are you upset?”

“Well, I’m not—” Steve frowned. “I’m not exactly _happy_.”

“Then it _is_ a big deal!” Bucky said, throwing his arms up in the air. He stomped towards the elevator. “Laufeyson’s the main casting director. I’ll go talk to him.”

“ _What?_ No!” Steve tugged his wrist. “You are _not_ talking to anyone. The decision’s already been made.” He managed to get Bucky to face him, and he folded his arms. For a small guy, he did try his best to look intimidating. “There’s always next year.”

“But you were excited about Swan Lake.”

“I’ll still be performing anyway. I’ll just be an extra.”

“But you wanted a role.”

Steve gave him a soft smile, reaching up to grip his shoulder. “Dunno if you heard, Buck, but some of us don’t always get every role we want.”

“You deserved this one.”

“You didn’t even see my audition.” Steve snorted. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“I _do_.”

“Well, there’s nothing that can be done now, okay? I’m gonna be fine. Let’s go get that ice cream you wanted, and you can stop thinking about castrating Rumlow.”

Bucky’s lips twitched up. “How do you know I was thinking about it?”

“You’re not as subtle as you think.”

* * *

“With all due respect, sir, Grant Ward isn’t even in Advanced,” Bucky said. He was standing in Laufeyson’s office, arms folded almost petulantly. “Steve Rogers is a much better dancer between the both of them.”

Laufeyson barely even looked up from his papers. He flipped through them as he talked. “Ward simply embodies the character better. It has nothing to do with what class they belong in.”

“But—”

Laufeyson sighed, setting his papers down. He held his hands together, leaning on his elbows. “Barnes, if Rogers has that much of a problem with it, he can try again next year. This year’s cast has been decided, and that’s final.”

“Steve doesn’t have a problem with it!” Bucky said, quickly. “He doesn’t even know I’m here. I just thought I could convince you.” He looked at the floor. “I know he’s sad about it, for sure. Even if he won’t admit it.”

“You are an exceptional student, Mr. Barnes, but I am not going to pull any strings just so you can get your way.” Laufeyson paused, then added, “And do not even think about asking Miss Hill. She will tell you likewise.”

Bucky bit his lip, silent. Knowing there was no convincing his teacher, he nodded instead. “Understood, sir,” he mumbled, turning to leave.

“Barnes,” Laufeyson called as Bucky opened the door. Bucky didn’t look back, but he paused at the doorway. “Getting rejected for parts happens to every ballet dancer. It will happen to you too, some day. It is not the only measure of your talent, and it does not mean that it is the end of the world. Your friend, I am sure, will understand that.”

With another jerky nod, Bucky left the office.

—

Although Bucky tried to keep his expression neutral, something clearly flickered across his face the moment he stepped into the dorm room. Steve took one glance at him and was able to tell where he’d been in an instant.

“You went to Laufeyson, didn’t you?”

“No. I went out for ice cream,” Bucky said, flopping down on the bed.

“What did he say?”

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s not giving you the part.”

“I told you.”

“I was looking forward to rehearsing with you. This sucks.”

“I’ll still be there.”

Bucky shot him a look, unimpressed. Steve would be there, but _barely_. The Corps de ballet and Extras would rehearse separately from those with lead roles, and they would only rehearse together from time to time. That way, the main cast could focus on their solos.

“You better be the lead next year.”

“I’ll try,” Steve said. They laid in silence for a while, each staring up the ceiling from their own beds. Steve shifted his head to look at Bucky. “Have you packed yet?”

Christmas break was in two days. Bucky knew Steve was going back to Brooklyn to spend the break with his mom. Bucky was staying in Manhattan because this was where his parents relocated. On the bright side, he would see Rebecca. On the downside, he was going to have to endure his father. He wasn’t exactly _fond_ of his dad.

“There isn’t much to pack. I’m leaving most of my clothes here because I’ve got clothes at home, you know?” Bucky lifted his head. “You excited to go home?”

Steve hummed. “I miss my ma.”

“It’s tough, huh? Being away from her for so long?”

“Yeah. I used to see her every day, and now,” Steve waved his hand in the air, “I never really do. But,” he locked eyes with Bucky, “I’ve got you to distract me from feeling too lonely.”

“You need more friends,” Bucky snorted, but he didn’t really mean it. Steve barked out a laugh. At least he knew not to take offense. Bucky smiled and stared back up at the ceiling. “I miss my mom too, but you get used to it at one point. Or, at least, it becomes easier to bear.”

“What about your dad?”

“Every time I’m with him he gives me… a colorful review of what he thinks of my career in ballet,” Bucky said, bitterly. He shut his eyes. “He doesn’t exactly give me a reason to miss him, that’s for sure.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Please.”

“I was gonna say fuck your dad, actually. Fuck what he thinks. You’re an amazing dancer.”

“Eh. He knows that. He just thinks that I should’ve been amazing at something else.”

“Fuck him for that too.”

“My, Steve. You gotta watch your fucking language.”

Steve shrugged. “Just looking out for my best friend.”

* * *

They exchanged numbers before Bucky hopped into his dad’s car. Steve made him promise to keep in touch over the break, and Bucky, of course, agreed to that. Seeing his dad immediately made Bucky wish he and Steve could just stay in their dorm and celebrate Christmas together.

“Where’s mom?” was the first thing he asked as he sat in the passenger’s seat. He tugged the seatbelt on, staring straight ahead.

“At Becca’s school,” his father said. No other explanation was provided.

Bucky pursed his lips at the awkward silence. For some reason, his father hated turning on the radio in the car, so the silence was far more deafening than it should’ve been. Bucky left his earphones in his duffel bag, which was in the trunk of the car, so he couldn’t play music for himself.

Taking his phone out, he sent a message to Steve instead.

 _Has your mom picked you up yet?_ he typed, biting his lip nervously as he clicked send.

The reply was immediate, as though Steve had been staring at his phone the whole time. _Yeah, she just got here. You home yet?_

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle. _I just left two minutes ago, Steve._

Bucky’s father looked over at him. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, no one.” Bucky turned his phone off. “Just a friend.”

“Been a long time since I’ve heard about any of those.”

 _Fucking dick_ , Bucky wanted to say. He rolled his eyes in lieu of those words. “He’s my roommate.”

“I thought you hated your roommate.”

“A _new_ roommate, dad.” Bucky puffed out a frustrated breath. “Steve.”

His father hummed thoughtfully for a moment, which was never really a good sign, as Bucky discovered. “You know, I’m surprised there are even any boys in that school of yours. What do their dads think of them doing ballet?”

Bucky’s hand formed a fist, and he dug it into his pants to keep from smashing the window. “I’m sure their dads are _supportive_ of it.”

“It just ain’t right. You should be—”

“Going to football games, I know. It’s not like you’ve told me that a billion times—” Bucky paused, putting his hand in front of him in a _stop_ sign and raising his eyebrows, “Oh, wait, _you did._ ”

“If you spent half the amount of time you do on ballet on football, you’d be in the NFL by now.”

“Newsflash, dad, I don’t care about a ball and grass fields. I care about ballet. Would you get over it? It’s been over a decade!”

Bucky’s dad huffed, muttered something under his breath, but didn’t speak to Bucky for the rest of the journey. It was always like that between them. One moment, they’d be arguing over Bucky’s career choices, the next, it would be awkward, irritated silence. There was no in between. Not since Bucky was eight and he figured out just how unhappy his dad was with him.

His phone vibrated again.

 _You okay?_ Steve had texted. Above that was one message sent a few minutes earlier. _I know that, but you said you lived nearby._

Bucky smiled softly. _Sorry, I was talking to my dad. And, yeah, I do live nearby, but it takes like twenty minutes. Traffic and all._

With a sigh, he reclined his chair and rested his arm underneath his head. He couldn’t wait for this break to be over.

* * *

Bucky was in the middle of texting Steve when his door creaked open (because locking the door was banned in this household, courtesy of Winnifred Barnes). Becca poked her head in.

“Hey, big bro.”

Bucky nodded. “Hey, Becks.”

“How’s school?”

Bucky sent one last reply to Steve and put his phone down. He sat up. “The usual. We’re putting on a production of Swan Lake this year.”

“Cool,” Becca said. She sat on the edge of Bucky’s bed, playing with the sheets. Clearly, there was something on her mind.

Bucky watched her for a moment then asked, “What happened?”

“Have you talked to mom?”

“Well, we talked a little bit when I arrived, yeah. Why?”

Her lips twitched, almost turning into a frown. “Well, I heard her talking to dad the other night. About you.” Bucky nodded. He was expecting something along the lines of _dad wants to pull you out of ballet school_ , because _that_ wouldn’t be news. He wasn’t however, expecting Becca to say, “They want to send you to Russia.”

“ _What?!_ ” he yelled.

Becca waved her hands over his mouth. “Keep it down! I’m not, like, a hundred percent sure, but they’re definitely thinking about it.”

“Why the hell would dad want to spend money on me going to Russia?”

“Um.” She winced. “Well.”

“Ah.”

“Yep.”

Bucky’s dad wanted Bucky as far away as possible, so that, one, he wouldn’t have their mom dragging him to any of Bucky’s performances, and, two, he didn’t have to tell his friends his son was doing ballet. They could ask him ‘Where is James studying?’, and he could simply say ‘Russia’, and then they’d be impressed by the mere fact that he’s abroad.

“And mom?”

“She thinks it’s a good idea,” Becca said, “I mean, you’ve mentioned wanting to do ballet in Russia a couple of times, so it’s, like, her supporting you.”

Becca’s face was the look of absolute sadness and misery, and Bucky couldn’t take it. He reached out and held her thigh firmly. “You do know why I haven’t pushed them to let me go to Russia, right?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was not the least bit of mockery in them. “Yeah, you told me multiple times. You’d miss me too much.”

“Not while we’re this young, at least. When you’re off to college, you probably won’t remember your big bro.” Bucky grinned and shook her lightly.

“Oh, shut up.” She scrunched her nose and smacked him. “You should take the opportunity. Come on, Buck. _Bolshoi_. You should at least try and send in an audition. It might work out well.”

Bucky tilted his head. “If you’re gonna tell me to go, you should at least try to sound convincing.” He pulled her forward, pressing her against his chest, arm wrapped around her shoulder as he hoped his actions were comforting.

She clutched his shirt. “Shut up, you jerk.”

 _Steve_ , was the first thing to flash through Bucky’s mind. He frowned, jostling Becca a little. “Shit. I can’t leave Steve either.”

Becca, crouched over in Bucky’s arms, looked up in confusion. “And who exactly is Steve?”

“Oh. Just. A friend.”

She leaned away and folded her arms. Bucky knew he was in for an interrogation. “ _Now_ you’ve got to talk.”

“What?”

“Come on, this is the first time you’ve mentioned anybody in your school that wasn’t a teacher.” That was because everyone else was an asshole, but Bucky had no interest in telling his sister that. “So. Steve. What’s he like?”

“Jesus, Becks, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“I know _that_.” Bucky nodded along. Truth was, if Steve _was_ his boyfriend, then he’d be getting the ass whooping of a lifetime from his father. Hell, he might even send Bucky to conversion therapy. Becca prodded him with a finger. “Does he know how obsessed you are with ballet?”

“You do realize the kind of school we go to, right?” Bucky snorted. “ _He’d_ be the weird one if he wasn’t at least a _bit_ obsessed.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m on a different level,” Bucky said. “Yeah, I know. He knows too. He’s my roommate, actually. And I can’t just leave him. All we’ve got in that place is each other.”

Becca raised an eyebrow, but there was a quirk of a grin on her lips. “You’ve monopolized his friendship.”

“What? No. That’s not what I meant.”

“That is _so_ what it’s like.”

For lack of better response, Bucky shoved her, nearly tipping her off the bed. She shrieked, pushing back at him with a laugh, and they tumbled to the bed together, just like when they were kids.

The knock on the door interrupted their childish play. Their mom stood there, gazing at them with a faux stern expression. “Come on, dinner’s ready.”

“Yes, mom!” They saluted at the same time.

Bucky took one glance at his sister. “Last one there’s cleaning the dishes,” he called, laughing as he bolted out of the room and down the stairs. His sister followed, cursing in the hallway as their mom chastised her for her choice of words.

* * *

The Russia talk with his parents came late at night, after Becca was sent off to bed. Bucky knew she’d be hiding nearby to eavesdrop on the conversation. That, to him, was a comforting thought.

“You know I want to go to Russia,” Bucky said, fingers playing around the handle of the mug in front of him. He had long since drained the tea out of it. “But that can wait until I’ve graduated.”

His father stood by the doorway; his arms folded tensely as he watched Bucky. He hadn’t said a word since this had begun. His mom, on the other hand, paced in front of him, constantly stopping to rest her hands against one of the chairs’ backrest and sigh.

“We just think it would be nice for you to try and audition. The education there is much better.”

“ _We?_ ” Bucky huffed, looking up at his dad, He pointed a finger at the man. “I know you don’t think that. Come on, have you told mom why you want me to go to Russia?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I want you to achieve your dreams?” his father asked. Those were both the first words he had said tonight, and the most ridiculous thing he had ever said to Bucky.

“Why _yes_ , yes it is.” Bucky nearly slammed his mug against the table. He stood, chair screeching against the tiled floor. “Do you even _remember_ our conversation this morning? When you told me you’d never be proud of me until I wear a fucking helmet and ram into some sweaty hunk of shits?”

“George!” his mom said, looking at his father, aghast. “Why would you say that?”

“That’s not even what I said! I just suggested a better alternative.”

“You know what? Fuck you, dad. Seriously. _Fuck you_.” Bucky pushed the chair back into the table and moved towards the doorway, ready to shove his father aside. “This conversation’s over.”

Bucky walked past his father, straight to his room. He didn’t see Becca on the way, so he figured she must’ve gone back to her room when the conversation had escalated. She never liked it when Bucky and their dad fought.

Back in his room, Bucky locked the door, pulling his phone out as he slammed into the bed with a grunt.

 _Hey_ , he texted Steve. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard hesitantly, then he continued. _Wanna call?_

 _Sure!_ Steve replied, and Bucky could imagine his smile.

Bucky’s phone vibrated. It was still on silent mode, so there was no ringtone to pierce his ears in the darkness of his room. He never bothered turning on the lights.

“Hi,” Bucky said as soon as he picked up the call. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Ma’s been called into an emergency shift or something, so I’m all alone right now.” Steve paused. Tentatively, he asked: “Is everything alright?”

Bucky wanted to cry. He buried his face into his pillow for a moment and lifted it up to say, “Yeah. Kind of.”

“What happened?”

“My parents were talking to me about letting me study in Russia. My mom wants it for my own good. My dad wants me as far away from him as possible.” Bucky laughed, short and dry, almost trembling. “I told ‘im to fuck off. So. Hey. Maybe he’ll cut off my tuitions and I’ll never dance again in my life.”

“Your mom won’t actually let him do that, will she?”

“There’s only so much she can do to convince him. He brings in all the money, you know? If he didn’t love her, I bet I never would’ve set foot in a single studio in my life.” Bucky clutched his pillow tight. “Fuck. I screwed up. I should’ve just shut up.”

Steve was breathing harshly on the other end of the line; so harsh, Bucky feared he would have an asthma attack. “He can’t just _stop_ paying for your education!”

“Technically, he won’t be. He’ll just send me to a normal public school.”

That did nothing to calm Steve down. Bucky would be flattered if he weren’t so angry at everything else. Steve huffed. “He should be proud of having you as your son. You’re… you’re _amazing_ and _talented_ and so fucking passionate. Why the fuck is he being such a dick about it?”

“Yes. Well. He thinks ballet is just for gay people. So. He’s not the most open-minded guy out there.”

“Oh so he’s homophobic too?” There was a thud on Steve’s end. A foot hitting a chair. “Fuck him, Buck. You can get a scholarship or something.”

SAB scholarships were solely need-based. No amount of merit granted a scholarship unless one was financially struggling. Bucky closed his eyes. “You know that can’t happen.”

“There are other schools.”

“I don’t _want_ other schools. Not in America, anyway.”

“I’ll talk to your dad myself, if that’s what it takes.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Well, that would certainly make good entertainment, at least.”

“I’ll do it if I have to,” Steve said, confident and assured. “I swear.”

Bucky smiled. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“It’s no problem, Buck.”

* * *

The morning after was awkward, for sure, and Bucky avoided his parents as he moved around the kitchen to get cereal.

The rest of the break was awkward too, but his father never came into his room threatening to stop paying for his education. It was the small mercies, he supposed.

Still, he could not wait to get back to school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might upload two days in a row, since it's (almost) a weekend and all! To anyone wondering, the art will come at chapter 5!


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky was back in their dorm before Steve. Mostly because he’d been eager to leave his parents in the car (Becca hadn’t been able to come along for a ride because she already had school). Steve, he saw, was still talking to his mom downstairs. Bucky had given Mrs. Rogers a shy smile and wave before patting Steve’s shoulder and going upstairs.

“My mom thinks you’re a sweet kid despite having said, like, two words,” Steve said as he entered the room. “Which goes to show just how many friends of mine she’s met.”

Bucky looked up. “Yeah? How many’s that?”

Steve laughed. “Well, I would have had to have had friends first.”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or say sorry,” Bucky said, “but, well, _same_.”

Steve dropped his bags on the floor and walked up to him. They hugged.

“I missed you, jerk,” Steve mumbled from where his chin was propped on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky squeezed him tighter. “Missed you too, punk.”

* * *

Two weeks later, rehearsals for _Swan Lake_ began. Three weeks into rehearsals, Bucky found himself spending less and less time with Steve and more and more time with _Grant fucking Ward_.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He spent way more time with Ursula (the girl playing Odette) and Warren (the guy playing Von Rothbart). Still. He’d seen Ward more times than he would have liked to.

Not that Ward really said much to him, these days. The incident in the toilets had probably been more than enough reason for him to back away. Regardless, Bucky was annoyed enough with his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky muttered when Ward landed on the wrong foot for the fourth time. “Fucking amateur.”

They did the whole sequence all over again.

Then Ward made the same mistake.

Again.

“The fuck is wrong with you, man?” Bucky growled as they walked back into place. “Fucking get it together or get the hell out.”

Ward rolled his eyes. “You’re not the fucking director. Shut the fuck up.” He looked the other way. “Fucking dick.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at that and he pushed him not-so-lightly. “The fuck did you just say?”

“Not everyone’s as much of a perfectionist as you, Barnes. Unlike you, we have social lives during our free time. So just shut the fuck up and let me dance.”

At this point, Bucky was seething, his hand clenched into a fist at his side. “What you’re doing out there ain’t even dancing! You look like someone just fucking kneed you in the balls.”

Ward glared at him, pushing his chest out and straightening his shoulders. “The fuck have I even done to you today?”

“What you _haven’t_ done is danced properly.”

“You’re just so fucking mad at me because your twink ain’t here, aren’t you?”

Bucky shoved Ward against the wall. “Don’t you dare call him that, you bastard.”

“Didn’t think you were so protective of your boyfriend.”

“ _I’m not gay!_ ” Bucky hissed, tightening his grip on Ward’s collar.

It was Hill who approached them and motioned for Bucky to move away. “That’s it. Barnes, Ward, outside, please.”

Both boys followed her outside, glaring at each other as they walked past other curious students. Hill shut the door firmly and regarded them with both disappointment and frustration. “Will one of you tell me what that was?”

“Barnes was giving me unwanted advice, ma’am,” Ward said, all fake polite and everything.

“Ward was calling Steve names.”

Ward turned to him. “That was _after_ you gave me the advice. Which, by the way, was not at all helpful.” He looked at Hill. “He said, and I quote, ‘Fucking get it together or get the hell out’.”

“It was true,” Bucky muttered.

“James.” Hill sighed.

“What?” Bucky said, petulant.

Hill regarded him for a moment, shook her head, and looked at Ward. “Whatever you have against Rogers or Barnes has no place whatsoever within the studio. This institution also does not condone bullying or name-calling, do you understand?”

At this point, Bucky expected Ward to bring up the restroom incident. Except he didn’t. Whether it was because Ward didn’t think it would help or he had no desire to admit his own humiliation, Bucky wasn’t sure. Either way worked in his favor.

Ward nodded. His face still showed a hint of annoyance and irritation. Both students knew, though, that if he tried to respond in anger, Hill would not hesitate to drop him from the production.

“Good. Go back inside.”

Bucky turned to follow Ward into the studio, despite knowing full well that Hill didn’t mean for _both_ of them to go inside.

Sure enough, Hill called Bucky’s name, telling him to stay.

Once Ward was inside, she spoke.

“What am I going to do with you, James?”

“Uh.”

“Well?”

Bucky blinked. “I don’t know what to say, ma’am.”

She put her hand to her forehead as though Bucky’s very presence was stressing her out (it likely was). _Just pretend nothing happened_ , he wanted to say, but he wasn’t going to, of course. He liked his balls where they were, thank you very much.

“You can’t go around telling people they’re doing a terrible job.”

Bucky couldn’t help it. He asked, “You don’t think he was doing a terrible job?”

Her mouth twitched, but the rest of her face otherwise remained stoic. The little slip was enough comfort for Bucky, though. At least he knew he wasn’t shitting on Ward just because he took Steve’s spot. Ward actually sucked. Hill’s next words barely bristled him. “It’s none of your concern,” she said.

“Well, if he leaves Steve alone, then I’ll leave him alone.”

She nodded. “And?”

Bucky huffed. “And I won’t give unsolicited criticism.” He paused, looked at her, then added, “Even if it’s pretty accurate.”

That made her break into a smile. She motioned to the door. “Get inside, James.”

Bucky opened the door, grinning at her. “He did suck, right?”

Hill rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I’ve known you for so long.” It was the only reason Bucky could talk to her the way he did, anyway. She pointed at the door. “Inside.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He saluted lazily and jogged back in, taking his position.

* * *

Lunch was supposed to be Bucky and Steve, as it always had been for the past few months. Now, there was a newcomer.

“Clint,” the guy next to Steve grinned, his butt halfway off the chair as he reached over to shake Bucky’s hand.

Bucky looked down at the tray he was carrying with two hands, looked at Clint’s hand, back at the tray, then stared Clint in the eye, deadpan. If it wasn’t obvious yet, Bucky was not happy. He sat down without shaking Clint’s hand.

In fact, Bucky was _far_ from happy. Steve was _his_ friend. It was Bucky and Steve against the world. Not Bucky, Steve, and _Clint_.

Clint raised his eyebrows, the grin faltering.

“Sorry, he’s probably just stressed,” Steve said. He kicked Bucky under the table and then patted Clint’s arm as Clint sat back down. “Lead role and all.” Bucky scowled.

“Nah, it’s okay. I mean, I’m just in the background and I’m stressed as fuck, man.” Clint glanced at Bucky. “Can’t imagine how hard it would be as a principal.”

Bucky gripped his spoon tightly. He watched Clint with a glower. “Been doing it for about four years. I’m used to it, thanks.”

“Oh,” was all Clint said to Bucky, and then he turned to Steve. “So, breezy, huh?” he said, as though Steve was supposed to understand.

Which, Steve looked like he did. He laughed like it was the funniest thing he had heard all year.

Bucky frowned. “What?”

“Just an inside joke, man,” Clint said.

“Huh.” What Bucky really wanted to say was _why the fuck do you have inside jokes now?_ “How long have you two known each other?”

“Just today!” said Steve, all excited and everything. “We had new positions, and we’re standing next to each other. I accidentally hit Clint on the nose.”

_Oh, Bucky would do that on purpose._

“You’re just lucky it didn’t bleed man.”

“I could’ve fixed it for you.” Bucky clenched his jaw when Steve said that.

Steve and Clint began to talk between themselves, barely including Bucky in the conversation. Most of their words flew over Bucky’s head. Some inside jokes he obviously wasn’t meant to understand were tossed around like they were funny as hell despite not making sense.

As they shared another joke, Bucky quickly swallowed down all his food, finishing it as fast as he could.

At the next burst of laughter, Bucky stood.

“I’m going to class,” he said, already carrying his tray.

Steve’s smile quickly fell. “What? We’ve got thirty more minutes.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky waved a hand in the air, his smile becoming increasingly fake by the moment, “I like to get ahead.”

“But—”

“Bye,” he said before Steve tried (and succeeded in) convincing him to stay for a little while longer.

He did not spare Clint a glance as he left the table, shoved his tray in the disposal area, and exited the cafeteria.

* * *

When Bucky entered his room after a long day of rehearsing and Grant Ward, he nearly screamed.

He didn’t really know what it was about Clint Barton that ticked him off. Either the guy was way too loud or Bucky wasn’t used to _people_. There was also the fact that Bucky was hardly able to talk to Steve during lunch because the new duo was two busy cracking unfunny jokes. Whatever it was, seeing Clint Barton on the edge of _Bucky’s_ bed as if it was _his_ room… well, Bucky could barely keep from punching the guy right in his annoying face.

“Get out of my bed,” Bucky said. “You aren’t clean.”

Clint stood immediately as if he understood. He raised his hands with a small smile. “Whoops. Sorry. Didn’t know you were one of those people.”

To make a point, Bucky dropped his bags and flopped down on his own bed. He was sweaty and still wearing his shoes.

Clint and Steve stared at him as he pulled out his phone, ignoring them.

“Well,” Clint said. He glanced at Steve. “I should… probably call it a night.”

“Yeah…” Steve stood up and walked him to the door ( _walked_ him). “I’ll see you tomorrow, man.”

Bucky rolled his eyes discreetly.

“Why did you roll your eyes?” Steve asked as he shut the door.

Well, not so discreetly.

“I didn’t.”

That, unsurprisingly, did not work on Steve. He crossed his arms, trying to force a stern look on his face that came off more as a pout. Bucky would smile if he wasn’t so irritated at… at _life_. “I _just_ saw you do it.”

“Did not,” said Bucky, sounding every bit like the child he probably was acting like. He wrinkled his nose, tucking his arm under his head. “I’m gonna sleep.”

“You’re all sweaty,” Steve muttered. His bare footsteps were soft against the floor.

They stared at each other, almost as though one of them was ready to talk. Almost as though Steve was about to ask _What the hell has gotten into you?_ or maybe Bucky nearly said _I don’t like your new fucking friend_. Except neither of them say any of the words they know very well were on the tip of the other’s tongue.

They stared each other down. Five seconds, maybe. Possibly even longer. Steve blinked. Bucky blinked back.

Then, they look away at the same time. Steve sighed and sat on his bed. Bucky flipped over so he was facing the wall with his eyes closed.

There was no _goodnight_ as Steve shut the lights. No small talk in the dark. No laughter. No apologies.

There was no doubt, however, that the two of them were very much awake.

* * *

Bucky hated to admit it, but the little tantrum he threw three weeks ago only resulted in widening the gap between him and Steve—and it was all Bucky’s fault. It was almost like a bottomless chasm which neither of them was able to close.

That was what their friendship felt like, at least.

It wasn’t a _fight_ fight. No one hated anyone (unless it was Bucky about Clint, then yes, Bucky hated the man for taking his best friend away). There were no sneers or insults thrown at each other. That wasn’t what their friendship—or even the lack thereof—was like. Bucky wouldn’t even be able to insult Steve even if it came to that.

So, for the most part, they just skirted around each other. There was the occasionally awkward _hi_ if they ever bumped into each other in the hallway (although sometimes Steve looked away before Bucky could even nod his head). They still sat at the same cafeteria table, but now with Clint. So, Steve and Clint would talk while Bucky sat in front of them, gobbled up his food, and made a hasty exit. If Clint noticed something off, he didn’t really ask. If Bucky and Steve were ever in the same class, they never talked to each other anymore. Not even during the short breaks like they used to.

Some people made it known that they noticed something was not right. Ward smirked at Bucky when they rehearsed for Swan Lake as if he had won something. Rumlow had laughed, said something that Bucky ignored, and then walked away. Laufeyson, although he was not really known for investing himself in the lives of his students, shot them both a curious look when, for the very first time, they stood on opposite ends of the room for barre exercises.

Bucky didn’t really want to be dramatic, but the past few weeks had been nothing but hell and loneliness for him. It was unlike the loneliness he had felt before. _Before_ , he had at least taken comfort in the fact that loneliness was his choice. But now… now, he knew what he was missing without Steve and it sucked.

To cope, Bucky did what he always did. He danced.

He danced, frustrated at every tiny mistake his body made. Every small imperfection seemed to haunt him more and more. His feet, he knew, looked worse than ever. There were blisters before, but now they were just a horrid red that looked like they would never heal.

Hill had stopped by the rehearsal studio once. She offered to teach Bucky, but Bucky refused. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. Hill watched for a while. Long enough, perhaps, that before she left, she told him to take a break.

Yet, he never stopped. There was nothing better to do with his time anyway.

* * *

“This is petty,” Steve finally said on the twenty-third day of mutual silence. He stomped his foot, almost childishly. “God dammit, Bucky, this is fucking ridiculous.”

Bucky didn’t turn to face him. He was folding his clothes. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Hopefully more than you’ve been saying to me the past three weeks!” Steve yelled. “I don’t even know what’s wrong!”

Bucky couldn’t take it. He spat: “Well, why don’t you ask your new best friend.”

There was a short huff of disbelief by the door. “Clint? You’re talking about Clint? Best friend—for _fuck’s_ sake. That’s what you’re upset about? That I made a new friend?”

“I’m not upset about you making any friends, Steve.”

“What, then?”

“Just—” Bucky closed his eyes and shook his head. “Just let it go.”

“I am trying to be an adult here—”

“Well, you’re not!” Bucky said—it was almost a scream, really. “And neither am I. So just shut the fuck up and let it go.”

Steve stomped around, walking to his bed. “Real mature, Buck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes even if Steve could not really see him. “Whatever.”

“I’m allowed to have other friends!”

“It isn’t about that,” Bucky said, frustrated. Well, it _was_ a part of it, but admitting that would drive Steve further into his anger. Then that would drive Bucky over the edge too.

“Then what?!”

Bucky whirled around, glaring at Steve. “I just don’t appreciate you ignoring me for another friend.”

Steve paused at that, but it was more due to disbelief than remorse. “I wasn’t ignoring you.” He frowned. “At least, I wasn’t until _you_ started ignoring me.”

“ _I_ started ignoring you because _you_ spent lunch sitting in front of me while excluding me from the conversation. So yeah. _Fuck_ your new friend.”

Steve’s frustration was still evident on his face. Bucky surely mirrored the same expression as Steve insisted, “I wasn’t excluding you!”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever.” Bucky shook his head and shoved his clothes in the closet. He didn’t look at Steve as he got on the bed and lay down. “Doesn’t bother me anymore.” It did. It really, _really_ did.

Bucky didn’t know how long they were silent for. He figured they would sleep in that heavy, irritated silence again. He was proven wrong half an hour later when his bed dipped behind him and Steve was gently pushing his arm and telling him to move.

“What the hell are you doing?” Though he meant for it to sound snappy, the words came out soft. Bucky frowned, looking over his shoulder.

Steve looked so _sad_. He looked ready to cry, even. “Did you really mean that?”

Bucky swallowed. It was difficult to lie when he was staring straight into _those_ eyes. He shook his head slowly, unable to speak.

“Okay.” Steve pursed his lips and nodded. He nudged Bucky again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have excluded you. That was my fault.”

Bucky flipped around so he was facing Steve. “I’m sorry too,” he finally said. “I was just… I shouldn’t have overreacted. I was just upset, I guess. I just. Just—” he made a frustrated noise and crumpled the blanket in his fist. “I didn’t want to _not_ be your best friend.”

“You thought I was not gonna be your best friend just ‘cause I started talking to someone else?” Steve wasn’t mad. He just looked hurt that Bucky would think that of him. He poked Bucky’s cheek. “You’re the _best_ best friend in the world, Buck.”

“That’s just cheesy, Stevie,” Bucky said, but he was already smiling. He shifted on the bed to make space for Steve. “You’re the best best friend too. If I had other friends.” Steve gave him a soft smile, and he wrinkled his nose. “Wanna watch something together? We can stay up late.” It was Saturday tomorrow, so there wouldn’t be any classes to miss.

“Hm. The only other thing I have downloaded is _The Lion King_.”

“I’ve never watched _The Lion King_ ,” Bucky admitted.

“What?”

He sheepishly scratched the back of his neck and looked down. “I don’t really watch things that aren’t ballet related, I guess.”

“Well, get some tissue while I get my phone.”

Bucky snorted as Steve shuffled around the room in search of his phone. Comfortable in his bed, he was unwilling to stand up to get tissue, though.

* * *

“Why the fuck didn’t you get tissues?” Bucky sniffled as he buried his face in Steve’s shirt. Steve didn’t seem to mind that his shirt was soaked with Bucky’s tears.

“I told you,” Steve murmured, patting Bucky’s head comfortingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating again tomorrow then we're back to the every other day posting schedule!
> 
> What do you guys think of it so far?


	5. Chapter 5

Steve and Bucky fell right back into being _Steve and Bucky_ again, and Bucky, though still wary, sent less glares towards Clint. Especially since Steve chose to sit next to _Bucky_ instead. _And_ he didn’t ignore Bucky anymore. The three of them talked during lunch, and Steve and Bucky still had their _Steve and Bucky_ time, so Bucky was… well, he was pretty happy with that.

Over the months that led up to the final show, Bucky hadn’t exactly _warmed up_ to Clint, but he was able to stand being in the same room with the guy. It was just unfair, in Bucky’s opinion, that Clint got to spend so much time rehearsing with Steve while Bucky was stuck with Grant fucking Ward.

At least Ward didn’t say much anymore. He sneered a lot, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Bucky kept his thoughts to himself too, though he’d occasionally snort at some of Ward’s mistakes. Childish, sure, but _whatever_. The guy was an asshole.

Speaking of assholes, Bucky was going to kill his dad.

“Uh, Buck, are you okay?” Steve asked through a spoonful of rice, squinting at Bucky. “You look like you’re about to break the spoon.”

Bucky slumped his back, putting his hand over his eyes and rubbing them. “Sorry. I was on the phone with my dad earlier.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

“Well, he’s gonna watch this year’s performance, apparently.”

“Really? Isn’t that nice?” Steve faltered, tilting his head. “Though you don’t seem too excited by that prospect.”

“I’m not. I mean…” Bucky groaned and put the spoon down lest he had the urge to throw it at a wall. “He has _never_ gone to a single show and now this?! As if he hasn’t done enough.”

“Are you… are you nervous?”

Bucky laughed. “Nervous? No! Why would I—" he locked eyes with Steve, whose eyes read _don’t give me any bullshit_. “Well, a little.” He pursed his lips. “Okay, a lot. It just means I really can’t fuck up. One mistake, then it’s over for me. He’ll be talking about that mistake until I give up on ballet because of him. Then I’ll be going to a public high school and graduate college with some engineering degree I barely understand. Or something. My dad’s unpredictable. I mean, he’s also the guy trying to send me to Russia.”

Steve snorted, ignoring most of the depressing things Bucky said. “Engineering’s the worst case for you? Seriously?”

“Well, yeah. I hate math. I don’t even memorize the quadratic equation.”

“Negative b—”

Bucky glared at him.

“Just kidding,” Steve grinned. He nudged Bucky with his foot, intertwining their feet a little. “Hey, how about I practice with you? I mean, we can sneak into rehearsal rooms or even practice in our room! We’ll just have to make space.”

“Huh?”

“Well, your partner probably won’t want to dance all day every day, would she?”

“No, she would not. She’ll probably knee my crotch if I suggest that.” Some people seemed to like having a dance and social life balance. Bucky wrinkled his nose at the thought.

Steve nudged Bucky again. “So. I’ll dance with you when you wanna practice.”

“You know Odette’s part?”

“Well, it’s not the best, but I can probably improve more if we practice together. I just got really bored one time.”

“And you decided to study Odette’s dance?”

Steve whacked him on the shoulder. “Promise you won’t laugh?” Bucky nodded at him, still smiling. Steve huffed. “Remember, before Christmas break, when I joked about auditioning for Odette?”

“Did you end up auditioning for Odette?”

“No,” Steve said, pouting. “ _But_ I did get curious about the whole pointe thing, so I went and bought some. And tried.”

“Now _that_ I want to see,” Bucky murmured. Pointe shoes were rarely worn by men. Bucky himself had never really tried them.

“It feels weird.” Steve licked his lips. “So? What do you say? Wanna practice? I’ve got my pointe shoes upstairs.”

“Like you even have to ask,” Bucky said, already standing up.

* * *

Steve remembered surprisingly plenty of Odette’s parts, though he wasn’t very adept at the _pas de deux_.

“I didn’t exactly have a partner to practice with,” Steve said apologetically when he almost stepped on Bucky’s foot after a lift. “And I have _never_ been lifted in the air.”

Bucky couldn’t really bring himself to be annoyed in the slightest bit. In fact, it was more endearing, if anything. “It’s alright,” he said—and meant it.

“You look so good doing this and I feel like an idiot,” Steve grunted, bending his back as he leaned into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky smiled at him softly. “I think you look great.”

Steve patted Bucky’s cheek and then did the pirouette.

From then on, they practiced _Swan Lake_ whenever they could, every break or even late at night when they were feeling rebellious and restless. It was one of the most enjoyable rehearsal periods Bucky had ever experienced with someone else.

* * *

Tchaikovsky startled both Steve and Bucky awake. Once Steve was sitting up, Bucky realized just how sore his arm was from Steve’s weight. “Ow,” he mumbled, trying to get the blood rushing back.

“Is that Eugene Onegin?” Steve said wearily, rubbing his eyes.

Bucky grinned at him, excited by the mere fact that Steve _knew_. “Act three. Polonaise.”

Steve glanced around in no particular direction. “Is that your ringtone?”

“Oh! Yeah. It is.” Bucky rolled over to grab his phone off the nightstand. _Mom_ was blinking across the screen. “My mom,” he told Steve and pressed _answer_ , putting the phone to his ear. “Hi?”

“ _Hey, James. Are you alone right now?_ ”

“Uh.” He frowned, looked at Steve, then nodded slowly. “Yes?”

“ _I just wanted to talk to you about Russia._ ”

Bucky clicked his tongue. “Listen, mom. I’m late for class.” Steve looked at him weirdly, but Bucky just waved a hand in the air. “Can’t really talk right now, sorry.”

“ _Isn’t it a Saturday?_ ”

“I’ve got, um. A thing! With Hill. Yeah, I’ve got a thing with Hill today.”

 _You do?_ Steve mouthed.

Bucky rolled his eyes. _Shut up_ , he mouthed back.

“ _Well—_ ”

“Goodbye, mom. Sorry!” Bucky hung up the phone, only feeling a slight pang of guilt for ignoring his mom. But he _really_ didn’t want to have that conversation with her again.

Steve watched as Bucky sunk back down into his pillow and put his phone away. “What was that about?” Steve asked.

“She wanted to talk about Russia again.”

Steve regarded him for a moment, cheeks puffed up as he was deep in thought. It was the kind of adorable that Bucky couldn’t stop staring at. “You know,” Steve began, slowly, “you could always just send in an application.”

“Huh?”

“Just to appease them. Send a shitty application so you don’t get in. Then, at least you can say—”

Bucky lifted a hand to stop him, shaking his head adamantly. “Okay, no. I don’t want to get _rejected_ by the Bolshoi.”

“Fair enough.” Steve sighed. Running a hand through his messy, tangled hair. “Maybe just send one in anyway so they stop bothering you? I mean, even if you do get in, they can’t physically drag you there anyway.”

“My dad’s not going to let me stay here if I get into Bolshoi.”

“Oh. That would suck.”

“Yeah.”

“Your whole situation sucks.”

Bucky shrugged. “Could be worse.”

Steve huffed. That response clearly did nothing to assure him of… whatever it was he needed to be assured of. Bucky had nothing else to say to that.

* * *

“What?! He did _what?”_ Bucky yelled into his phone. The moment he read his mom’s text, he had called her immediately, furious. “He has no fucking right!”

“ _James, I did try to tell you this morning_.”

“I thought you were going to try to persuade me or something! I didn’t think he would’ve _sent in an application_.”

“ _It may not be so bad_ —”

“But I like it here. I have friends!” Well, _one_ friend, but his mom didn’t need to know that. “I have friends I don’t want to leave. And Becca. I don’t need to go to Bolshoi just yet.”

“ _Well, the application has been sent in and there’s nothing I can do._ ”

Bucky banged his hand on the wall and growled. “What video did he even send?”

“ _I believe it was one of your audition tapes for a competition.”_

“He is not allowed to do that.”

“ _Legally_ …”

“Why didn’t you stop him?!”

“ _He sent in the application before he told me. I was a little mad at first but…”_ His mom paused, then, “ _I think Bolshoi would be good for you._ ”

“Not _now_. And you know damn well why dad wants me to go to Russia. It’s not for my own fucking good, and you _let_ him.”

“ _James—_ ”

“So, what? I get in and then? That’s it? I have no choice?”

“ _You’ll still come back to America during your breaks_.”

Bucky growled in frustration, tossing his pillow across the room, right at the door. “That’s not the fucking point.”

Steve entered the room in that moment, poking his head in with a small frown. He glanced down at the pillow, picked it up, and walked over to sit beside Bucky.

“ _Don’t use that tone with me._ ”

“Oh, please. You just ruined my fucking life.” Bucky dropped the call, throwing his phone over to Steve’s bed in frustration. Most kids would probably call it a _grand opportunity_ , but Bucky did _not_. Bolshoi would’ve likely accepted him after he had graduated from SAB, and he’d rather spend the rest of his teenage years in America. With Becca and Steve.

Steve was silent, letting Bucky fume and stew in his anger. His hand was rubbing Bucky’s back gently, letting him know the support was there if he needed it.

Bucky sighed, moving around the bed so he was leaning on the wall. “Looks like I’m going to Russia.”

Steve blinked, then his eyes widened. “What?”

“My dad sent in an application to Bolshoi. Without telling me. Or my mom. Except I snapped at my mom since she was telling me this whole thing could be good for me.” A little part of Bucky felt bad for yelling at his mom, but he was far too irritated to call back and apologize. He may do that later, though.

“That’s… that’s…” Steve furrowed his eyebrows, digging his fingers into the bed sheet. “He can _do_ that?”

“Apparently.”

“Well… maybe you won’t get in—” Bucky sent him a flat look, and Steve grumbled, sitting next to him, “Oh, who am I kidding? Of course you will.”

There was really nothing anyone could say to make the situation better. This was going to be Bucky’s final year here, and then he would only be seeing Steve a few times a year after this. Which sucked because he had known Steve for less than a year, so it wasn’t as though they had spent all the time in the world together yet.

“I’ll try to talk to my dad, but I don’t exactly have high hopes.”

“If you _do_ go to Russia, you’ll keep in touch, right?”

Bucky snorted. That was a ridiculous question. He wrapped an arm around Steve and pulled him close. “Do you even have to ask? Russia would suck without you.”

Steve looked up at him with a small smile. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do. Who else is gonna force me to watch Disney movies?”

Steve huffed out a small, sad laugh. He hugged Bucky tighter, burying his face in Bucky’s chest.

They didn’t cry then, but Bucky was sure they almost did.

* * *

Two days later as Bucky watched Steve shuffle into the bathroom sleepily, he finally called up his father with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Which, evidently, was none.

“Hello, dad,” he greeted, sarcastic.

“ _James,_ ” his dad said, as if he wasn’t planning on taking Bucky away from the only friend he ever liked.

“Just so I know. Is your plan to sabotage my life a permanent thing or can I expect some change?”

“ _I really don’t understand why you’re so mad. I’m giving you better... training._ _Do you want me to pull you out of ballet entirely?_ ”

Bucky scoffed. “This is not about the training. I have people here I don’t want to leave. You not included.” He would be glad to leave his father, that’s for sure.

His father sighed, undeterred, and Bucky knew that it was a lost cause. Of course, he would argue up until they shoved him onto a plane, but either way, he knew was _still_ going to end up on the plane. “ _You’ll thank me in the future._ ”

“You know, I _really_ don’t think so,” Bucky muttered.

“ _You don’t even have any friends you’re attached to_.”

“What do you know? It’s not like you ever call me up to see how I’m doing.”

“ _If I did, would you even answer?_ ”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “Fuck off.”

“ _James, I am trying to be supportive._ ”

“Supportive would be asking me what I want to do or—or supportive would be _listening_ to what _I_ have to say instead of making big decisions for me without even informing me about said decisions. Would you even have told me I’m going to _Russia_ if mom didn’t?” His dad didn’t answer. Bucky rolled his eyes. “No, of course not. You probably would’ve waited until the very last minute to tell me to go pack my—okay, you know what? That’s not even the point. The point is, what you did to me was a shitty thing and I fucking hate you. The only reason I’m going to Russia is because you would force me to give up ballet otherwise.”

“ _So you’re going to Russia?”_

“I _hate_ you,” Bucky snapped and hung up.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified that you have the guts to say that to your dad,” Steve admitted when he walked back into the room. He had clearly been listening in.

“Ugh. I haven’t even apologized to my mom after shouting at her two days ago.” Bucky wrinkled his nose. “I just... I’m just so mad.”

“Yeah, parents suck sometimes.”

Bucky looked at Steve and snorted. “You would never say your mom sucks.”

Steve smiled softly. “Yeah, my mom’s the best. I’m sorry. I was just trying to empathize.”

“You don’t need to do that. Some parents suck, some don’t. My mom’s pretty great for the most part.” Bucky closed his eyes and leaned back, heaving a long-suffering sigh. “Except this part, I guess.”

Steve frowned. He sat next to Bucky and took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shook his head. “Not your fault.” He checked the time on his phone and sat up straight. “Wanna go practice?” _Just to forget about all this bullshit_ , he wanted to add.

Steve brightened. “Sure.”

* * *

Because Bucky found out about the application two months _after_ the process happened, the acceptance letter came in about one week later. The letter, mailed from the Moscow State Academy of Choreography (which was the actual name of the school, though it was colloquially called the Bolshoi Academy), was the most offensive thing Bucky had read in his life. Mostly because it cemented the fact that he was actually going there now.

“I hate this,” he grunted, staring at his phone. The letter had arrived at his house, so his mom had simply sent him a picture and nothing else—no comment, no _good job_ , nothing. At least she knew him well enough to know that any comment would _not_ be appreciated.

Steve was leaning on Bucky’s shoulder, looking at the letter too. “On the bright side... you got in.”

“The _bright_ side?”

Steve winced. “Not so bright.”

“If I actually had the letter I would crumple it up right now.” Bucky tightened his grip around his phone. “Stupid durable phones.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone complain about that.” Steve reached over to Bucky’s drawer and pulled out a piece of scratch paper, giving it to Bucky. “Here. You can use this instead.”

Bucky smiled as he crumpled the paper in his hand. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Steve didn’t laugh, and after a moment Bucky’s smile fell too.

“We’ll still keep in touch,” Bucky assured him, voice strained. They both knew that wasn’t enough. It was ridiculous, Bucky thought, how attached they were to one another. He was pretty sure normal friendships weren’t _this_ codependent—it was hard enough for them not to see each other for one whole day, let alone _months_ on end.

Steve sighed. “I know.”

“And I’ll come visit you whenever I’m in America.”

“You better.”

“You’ll always be my best friend.”

“You too.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand, stroking it gently. “End of the line.”

Steve smiled. “End of the line.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful art above is by HeyBoy and there is one more to come!


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey, Buck.” Steve rushed up to him after the first of their five dress rehearsals. Bucky’s clock was ticking and in a few weeks he was going to be boarding a plane to Russia. But he wasn’t going to worry about that yet. He had Steve. “That was great.”

Bucky was on the floor, in the middle of taking off his shoes. He looked up and smiled at Steve. “Thanks. You did great too.”

Steve snorted. “Please. You could barely see me in the sea of all those people.”

“You’re the only one I care to watch, so I definitely see you.”

“Oh.” Steve blushed at that. It was a shame he was so unused to being complimented, given that he was a great dancer (who definitely deserved Ward’s role). “Thanks.” Steve shuffled his feet a little. He had already gotten out of his costume and was now in jogging pants and a loose white shirt. “So. Uh. Hm.”

Bucky gave him a confused look.

Steve licked his lips. “Sorry. I was just gonna… Do you wanna go out tomorrow?”

“Hm?” Bucky picked his ballet shoes up from the floor and stood. “Yeah, sure. Where’d you want to go?”

Steve kicked his foot on the floor, looking _shy_. “Well, it’s at night, so you’ll probably have to ask your parents to inform the school first… though my mom’s going to be with us! Kind of. Not, like, hovering. Just there to make sure we don’t… get kidnapped or something. She’ll be seated somewhere else with a friend of hers.”

Bucky held up a hand. “Woah. Wait, what? Where are we going?”

Steve tucked his chin down. “The American Ballet is doing _Giselle_ tomorrow night at the Metropolitan Opera House.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, almost no sound came out of his mouth. He stared and stared and stared, then finally exclaimed: “ _What?_ ”

Steve shrugged. He rubbed his hands together nervously. “Technically I didn’t really buy them, since they cost a lot. But my mom’s friend knows someone who got free tickets. So I asked if I could have two, though the seats aren’t really the best. But I’d be really happy if you could go. I mean, I get that you’re busy with—”

“No. No. Well, yeah, it’s been a hectic last few weeks of school. But _American Ballet_ and _Giselle_ and the _Metropolitan_. Of course I’m gonna come with you!” Bucky beamed at Steve, pulling him into a hug. “Fuck. I love you so much, man. You’re an amazing friend.”

Steve cleared his throat, patting Bucky awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. Friend.” He pulled back and grimaced. “See, I was thinking—”

“Steve! There you are!” Clint yelled as he weaved through the other dancers. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Whatever Steve was going to say to Bucky was cut off, and he immediately deflated. He gave Bucky an uneasy smile, which was so unlike him. “I’m just… I’ll, uh, go. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding a little distractedly. “What were you going to say—”

“I’ll catch up with you. Bye!”

Just like that, Steve was gone. He hauled Clint by the shirt, muttering angrily into his ear. Bucky looked at them in concern, a little confused because Steve’s hurry made no sense.

* * *

It was easy to convince Bucky’s mom to let him go to the show as soon as he assured her that Steve’s mom would be coming along as well, and that he was going to be staying over at Steve’s for that night. The school wasn’t letting them back in until the next day since the show would end late. (Steve’s house was relatively far, sure, but it was better than them staying over at Bucky’s).

Then Bucky realized he didn’t have a suit. He didn’t even have a _polo_.

“I am _not_ wearing a shirt that has a drawing of a stickman on it,” he huffed when Steve suggested it. The lucky bastard had a long-sleeved polo that was suitable for the event, so he had no right to talk.

“You could borrow from Clint. You’re sort of the same size, I think.”

Bucky pursed his lips, still staring at his closet. “We’re not exactly the kind of friends that share clothes.”

Though he wasn’t facing Steve, he could _feel_ the eye roll. “I’ll ask for you if you’re too shy.”

“I am not—” he stopped when he turned and found Steve giving him a challenging grin. “Okay. Fine. I’ll ask him.”

Clint was only a few doors away. Bucky knew this because one time he and Steve had to _carry_ a sleeping Clint to his room after he had fallen asleep on Steve’s bed (which Bucky had griped about for three seconds. His fury didn’t last very long because Steve had smiled at him and his anger melted away. It wasn’t fair, that smile).

“Oh, hey, man,” Clint said when he opened the door. He peered behind Bucky, glancing around the hallway. “Oh. Just you?”

Bucky gave him a smile that felt fake because it definitely was. “Listen, Steve and I are going to the Metropolitan Opera House tonight—”

“I know! He told me.”

“—and I was wondering if I would—hold on, wait, he what?”

“Yeah. He’s been going on about it for weeks.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “Why’d he tell _you_?” Because if Steve had asked Clint to go first, and Bucky was only the second choice since Clint was unavailable, then he was going to—

“Well, he knew how excited you’d be,” Clint said.

“Huh?” Bucky’s lips were parted, at a loss for words. “What?”

“Well, you know,” Clint gestured at Bucky like it explained everything, “You.”

“What?” Bucky glanced at his watch and grunted. This conversation was going nowhere. “Whatever. Anyway. I need to borrow a polo, if you have one.”

“Oh, sure. Come on. Trying to dress up for Steve?”

Bucky frowned as he followed Clint inside the messy place. “Why would I be dressing up for Steve?”

“Because…” Clint turned to look at him, eyes squinted. “Wait…” he closed his eyes, putting a palm to his forehead. “That fucker backed out.”

That was it. Bucky folded his arms, stern. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“Nothing, man. Nothing. It’s not really something you should be hearing from me.” Clint dug through his clothes and pulled something out, holding it up for Bucky to look at. “How’s this?”

Bucky barely spared him a glance. He took the polo. “Yeah. That’ll do.”

Clint sized him up, shaking his head slowly. “You are grumpy as hell, man. Don’t know what he sees in you.”

“What the fuck?”

“I mean, you’ve got the looks, I guess.”

“Dude, just shut up,” Bucky muttered, walking out of the room.

“Well, enjoy the show!” Clint called down the hall before shutting his door.

Bucky didn’t quite _say_ ‘fuck you’, but he was sure that his walk conveyed the same thought anyway. The only reason he didn’t shout it out was because Clint was doing him a favor, and the least Bucky could do was not say anything.

“Your friend’s being weird,” Bucky told Steve by way of greeting.

Steve looked up from his phone. “What happened?”

“I dunno.” Bucky took his shirt off in the middle of the room, ignoring the way Steve raised his eyebrows. “He said stuff about you backing out. I don’t know what the hell he was on about.”

Steve turned as red as he had when he first asked Bucky to the show. “I don’t know what he’s talking about either,” he said, even though he clearly did.

Bucky tugged the polo on, buttoning it up slowly as he assessed Steve. He squinted. “Okay,” he said and dropped it. It probably wasn’t important, anyway.

* * *

“No funny business, alright?” Sarah said sternly as she dropped Steve and Bucky off on their row. She was going to be two sections away from them with her friend.

“Ma,” Steve huffed, already pushing Bucky down the row.

“I’m just kidding, Steven. Have fun.”

Bucky turned a little, giving Sarah a charming smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Rogers.”

Sarah tilted her head, and Bucky already knew what she was going to say next. He laughed a little, shaking his head. “Sorry. Thanks, Sarah.”

“That’s more like it. Bye.” She kissed Steve on the forehead and left.

“My mom loves you,” Steve whispered as they shuffled along the seats in search of theirs.

“She’s cool,” Bucky whispered back. He accidentally bumped into the knee of some uptight looking guy in a three-piece suit. “Sorry,” he mumbled out of instinct, not really caring. Steve chuckled softly behind him.

“Wait, Buck.” Steve tugged Bucky’s wrist. “You walked past our seats.”

“Whoops.” Bucky walked a few steps backward and pulled down his seat. He and Steve grinned at each other, sitting down at the same time. “This is amazing, Steve.”

“Hasn’t even started yet,” Steve giggled.

Right on time, the lights dimmed. They faded out row by row until the theater was completely dark, the only sources of light were from the stage and the exit signs blinking in the sidelines.

Bucky glanced at Steve and lifted the armrest between them. Steve smiled at him, already leaning into his chest. With a sigh, Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him gently as the show began.

* * *

“Okay, so, my room’s kinda small,” Steve said, pushing up the sleeves of his polo up to his elbows as they walked up the stairs. “And the house isn’t exactly that big. So either we share a bed or you get the small couch in the living room that’ll break your back.”

“Well, we already share a bed a lot. Doesn’t matter.”

Bucky looked around Steve’s house, eyeing the picture frames hung up on the wall. “Oh, is that you?” he pointed at a picture of what seemed to be a little Steve covered in a lot of paint. Bucky peered closer. “That _is_ you. Adorable.”

“Didn’t really grow much taller,” Steve chuckled, taking a few steps down to stand next to Bucky.

Bucky snorted, reaching up to ruffle Steve’s hair. “It’s okay. I like your height.”

Steve turned around quickly, clearing his throat. “Right. Let’s go. It’s getting late.”

“It’s 2 a.m. It’s earlier than it is late.”

“We’ve stayed up later than 2 a.m., Buck.”

“Just for the record,” Bucky said, looking around to make sure Steve’s mom wasn’t there to hear what Steve just said, “ _You’re_ the one who invites me to stay up watching movies.” Then, louder, he said, “ _Steve’s_ the bad influence.”

Steve laughed. “Wow. Thanks for backing me up.”

“I don’t want your mom to kill me or something.”

They reached the top of the stairs and Steve pushed open the door to the right. “You’re not my babysitter.”

“Well, if you get more health problems ‘cause of all the late sleeping, then she _will_ kill me.” Bucky ushered Steve into the bedroom. “So, let’s sleep.”

“At least change first.”

“Cha—” Bucky’s eyes widened as he gasped. Steve didn’t get it immediately, still looking rather confused. So, Bucky waved his empty hands in the air almost theatrically. “Change! Steve! I forgot to pack clothes!”

“ _Oh._ ” Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “How’d you forget that?”

“Me?! You forgot to remind me!”

Steve snorted. “It’s _your_ clothes.”

Bucky huffed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Just gonna sleep in my—” he stopped, glancing down on himself, “— _Clint’s_ polo.”

“I would offer you a shirt but,” Steve was standing by his closet, holding up a shirt a few sizes too small for Bucky, “this is about all I’ve got. You can just take your shirt off if you’d like.”

Bucky nodded, already taking off the buttons. “If you don’t mind.”

Steve cleared his throat once more, shaking his head rather adamantly. “Don’t mind at all.”

* * *

Bucky stuffed all his clothes into his bag without a care in the world. He left out some of the things he was going to use for his last night here, but otherwise, the packing process was already halfway done. And, unlike the previous years, he was acutely aware of how he was never coming back to this place.

“Hate to say it, but I’ve become attached to this school,” he muttered as he stuffed his pants into one corner of his luggage. He glanced at Steve. “Which is mostly your fault, I think.”

Steve was sitting on his bed, just watching Bucky pack. He looked sad. He probably _was_ sad. Bucky certainly was. “You’ve got two weeks before you leave for Russia, right?”

“Yeah. We’ll hang out everyday before that, I promise.”

Steve exhaled, tired and defeated. “Okay.”

“You should probably pack too.”

“Hey, come on.” Bucky dropped the pants in his hands and rushed over to comfort Steve, putting his hands on Steve’s cheeks. “Please don’t be sad. We still have our final performance tomorrow. We’ll see each other then, and then some.”

“Tomorrow’s useless. We’ve got different dressing rooms and—” Steve blinked up at him, his eyes fluttering close for a moment. “Bucky, I...”

“Hm?”

“I really, really...” Steve looked away, swallowing. He grimaced. “Miss you. I really, really will miss you.”

Bucky hugged him. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Steve mumbled, burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck. “I—”

Tchaikovsky made a grand entrance in their room once again, forcing them both to jump apart in surprise. Bucky sheepishly picked up his phone. “Sorry,” he said, already pressing the phone against his ear.

* * *

Bucky put his hands on his hips as he stared at the school’s front doors. He was probably never going to walk through them again. “Well. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said to Steve.

Steve pursed his lips. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“I have to go.” Bucky motioned at his mom’s car a few meters away.

Steve nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, he leaned forward and grasped Bucky in one of their tightest embraces yet. “You should probably go before I cry.”

“You’ll still see me tomorrow.” Bucky patted him. He himself could feel those tears Steve was talking about. “And for two more weeks.”

Steve sniffled. “Still.”

Bucky squeezed him. “Bye, Steve.”

With a sigh, Steve stepped back and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Bye.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, dude,” Clint said, patting him on the shoulder like they were close friends.

Bucky hummed absentmindedly, twisting his lipstick open. He leaned closer to the mirror, looking at Clint’s reflection. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a different dressing room?”

“Yeah, well,” Clint shrugged, looking around, “Steve came over here. Thought I’d follow along.”

“I haven’t seen Steve.”

Clint clicked his tongue, ducking his head down a little. The hat on his head fell over to cover one eye when he looked back up. “Okay, you caught me. Steve’s… I honestly don’t know where he even is. But I just came over to talk to you.”

Bucky’s lipstick hovered over his bottom lip. “Uh. Why?”

“Well, at first I was going to talk to you about the fact that you seem to hate me. But now,” Clint folded his arms, “I’m just tempted to ask you to do my make-up for me.”

“What?”

“Seriously, you’re really good. It’s all even.”

Taking a piece of tissue, Bucky rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant. What you said before that.”

Clint stepped closer. “Well—”

Bucky shoved the box of tissue towards Clint. “While you’re at it, please put tissue between your lips. You look like you drank blood. Why is your lipstick so red?”

“I may have borrowed—” Groaning, Clint waved a hand in the air. “Not the point.” He pressed the tissue between his lips, took it out, then made a smacking sound. “Is that better?”

It wasn’t the best, but Clint wasn’t front and center anyway. Bucky shrugged. “Sure.”

“Okay, so, what’s your problem with me, man?”

“I don’t have a _problem_ with you.”

“Steve’s a good guy—”

“Oh, yeah, you would know.”

“—so I know he wouldn’t be friends with assholes. If he’s friends with you, I have reason to think you’re a good guy too.” Someone bumped into Clint, causing him to tip forward and steady himself on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky gave him a flat look, but he didn’t seem to care. “So. Good guy. Why do you hate me so much? Did I ever do anything to you?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Yes, because when you gave me my shirt back, you were _very_ grateful I lent it to you.”

Bucky sniffed disdainfully. “I was.”

“ _Take your fucking shirt_ ,” Clint said in what was a poor impression of Bucky’s voice. He snorted. “If that’s what you being nice is like, I don’t think I want to see you mad.”

Bucky spun around, waving his lipstick in the air. “Okay. You don’t like me, I don’t like you. Glad we got that settled. Now, goodbye.”

Clint looked at him, eyes squinted in confusion. His mouth was dropped open in disbelief. “That isn’t even _close_ to what I said!”

“That’s what it sounded like to me anyway.”

“Look, man, I’m _trying_ to take the high road—”

“I already told Steve I was okay with you two being friends—”

“Now you’re just making it sound like he should have your _permission_ to be friends with me.”

“That’s not what—” If Bucky hadn’t spent all day making himself look great, he would tug his hair in frustration right now. “ _So_ not what I meant.”

Clint raised an eyebrow, mirroring Steve’s familiar _I’m not impressed_ expression. However, Clint’s version was much less effective.

“Does it even matter? You’re never gonna see me again. I’ll be in America twice a year. Don’t tell me you’ll hang around with Steve even for those two visits?”

“It should matter to you because it matters to him. He hates that we don’t get along.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Oh, really? What, did he tell you that?”

“Not explicitly, but we both know that’s how he feels.” Which was true, and Clint was definitely making a good point, yet Bucky still had the urge to clock him.

Bucky threw caution to the wind anyway and sighed. “You want to know why I don’t like you? Well, you’re _always_ with Steve, and the only time you aren’t is if _I’m_ with him, so if I like _you_ then it’s gonna be you, Steve, and me. Together. All the time. I get back from Russia, the three of us will be hanging out. So, thanks but no thanks.” He smiled. “I’ll pass on the whole friendship thing.”

Clint had the disbelieving look on his face again. “Dude. Are you stupid or something?”

“Excuse me?”

“Steve always wants to be with you. Alone. You’re his favorite person. If this is a competition, you are way ahead of me. Hell, we aren’t even playing the same game!”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “And... you’re okay with that?”

“I’ve got other friends aside from Steve. I know you two are inseparable.”

“That’s… nice.”

Any awkward silence that might’ve fallen between them was broken by a sudden clap from Hill to catch everyone’s attention. Bucky gave Clint a poor attempt at an apologetic smile that meant _This was a lovely conversation, but I’m really glad we’re not having it anymore_ , and he turned to Hill, listening as she gave final notes and a sprinkle of encouragement.

* * *

Ursula—the dancer playing Odette (and, consequently, Odile)—danced across the stage, and Bucky watched from the curtains as he evened out his breathing. His dad was out there, he knew, since both his parents came backstage earlier to say hi. In the first two Acts, Bucky hadn’t really spotted them in the crowd, and by this time, he was too high on adrenaline to care.

Their second pas de deux was coming up in a few minutes, and so Bucky watched, and watched, running the movements through his head.

Then, in a split second, Ursula fell, her ankle collapsing beneath her. The whole theater stared in shock for a moment as she cried in pain—and then everyone moved.

Bucky ran out with Warren, quickly helping Ursula stand. She sobbed as they carried her backstage.

“It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay,” Bucky said, even though his mind already knew damn well it wasn’t going to be okay. “Where’s your understudy?” Because the show _must_ go on.

“She’s not here,” Ursula said with another sob, then she screamed when someone ran over to touch her ankle.

Bucky gaped at her. “Where the hell is she?!”

“She’s sick.”

“ _She’s_ sick? She had one fucking job.”

Evidently, she didn’t reply, until someone came over to carry her away to the hospital.

“Barnes, we’ll have to end the show,” Laufeyson said as he walked over to them, Hill right behind him.

“What? No. You can’t just end the show!” Not when his _dad_ was here. Not when this was his final performance here. “Do any of the swans know Odette’s part?” he swept his eyes across all the girls dressed in white. “Seriously? No one?”

“Even if they knew how, they have never practiced with you,” Laufeyson said. His voice was both calm and irritated, but Bucky really didn’t care. The show _must_ go on, damn it. Wasn’t it Laufeyson who taught him that?

Bucky looked around the room again, and his gaze fell on Steve. He brightened up, a look which only seemed to alarm Steve further. “Sir, there is someone I _have_ practiced with.”

Laufeyson raised an eyebrow. “And who might that be?”

“Steve Rogers, sir.” Steve buried his face in his hands.

Laufeyson blinked. Waited. Tried to make sure Bucky wasn’t joking. Then, “Absolutely not.”

“But, sir, you wouldn’t want to disappoint all the parents who came here to watch their kids.”

“It may not be a bad idea,” Hill said, giving Laufeyson a look. “The orchestra hasn’t stopped playing. They can still go out there and perform. Rogers, are you up to it?”

Steve dropped his jaw, glancing between Bucky and the two teachers, his face growing more and more worried by the moment. “I’m not wearing pointes.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky said.

“Are you serious?”

Laufeyson closed his eyes for a second then waved them off. “Go. Rogers, get rid of that hat.”

Hill nodded. “Warren, go do your part first.”

Bucky grinned and walked over to take Steve by the wrist. “Come on! We gotta hurry.”

“Bucky, this is ridiculous,” Steve muttered, throwing the hat to the ground and running after Bucky. “I’m gonna embarrass myself out there!”

“No. You’ll do great.” Bucky stopped, gripping Steve’s hand firmly. “Because you’re a great dancer.”

“Bucky—”

“Come on, it’ll be like a last dance thing.”

“I’d like it better if it wasn’t in front of hundreds of people.”

“You go stage left. I’ll see you in the middle, okay?”

“This is insane,” Steve muttered.

Bucky laughed and pushed him away, running towards the other direction. As disastrous as this was, cancelling the show would’ve been far worse. Plus, he was _convinced_ Steve was gonna do great.

When Bucky arrived in the wing, Steve was just getting into place on the other side. They smiled at each other, Steve looking more unsure than Bucky felt. The theater was expectedly noisy, but Bucky didn’t care. The show was going to go on.

Warren entered first, dancing his part. The audience was still rather noisy, but it was more hushed whispers and murmurs than actual talking.

When their cue was played, Bucky entered the stage at the same time Steve did. Five seconds into the dance, the audience fell silent. Whether it was due to the shock that the show was still going, or due to the shock that a boy was playing Odile… well, it didn’t matter. At least they were watching.

Bucky lifted Steve by the waist, their movements timed and graceful. Steve kept a smile on his face as he turned halfway towards Bucky. They both walked across the stage and Steve, through grit teeth, said, “They’re staring.”

“What else would they be looking at?” Bucky said, clenching his teeth in a forced smile as well. Steve leapt again with Bucky’s hand barely grazing his body, this time.

“They’re looking at _me_.”

“You can’t even see them.” Which was partly true, since the stage lights were glaring, and it was impossible to see anyone beyond the orchestra and the first three or four rows.

Steve huffed, still keeping up his smile. “You know what I mean.”

“Just shut up.” Bucky bent forward to try to kiss Steve’s hand, which was retracted with a shy smile. “You’re doing great.”

Steve rolled his eyes and walked away from Bucky to dance his part with Warren. This, although just a small portion of the choreography, stood out from their entire dance with how poorly Warren and Steve knew each other’s movements. Warren’s hand wasn’t even touching Steve’s waist when he pushed Steve back towards Bucky.

Bucky didn’t even have to act entranced as Steve spun around him and bent back—he already _was_ entranced.

The rest of the dance passed by decently. Obviously, it wasn’t perfect (especially the parts with Warren and Steve), but it was as good as it could possibly be at the last minute.

The performance continued on with Steve as Odette, though he did make a few mistakes during the parts without Bucky. _It’s because I’ve barely danced this in the past few months,_ he hissed at Bucky when they passed each other by the wings.

Bucky just smiled and told him he was doing great.

They finished the show without any major mishaps, and by curtain call, the audience had lost all their tension from the incident that occurred just over an hour ago. Bucky held Steve’s hand in his, raising it up in the air as they glanced at each other and bowed at the same time.

As the rest of the cast joined hands, Bucky leaned in towards Steve. “That was amazing,” he murmured.

Steve was flushed red. He grinned. “Thanks for making me do that. It was awesome.”

Once they were backstage, Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve, unable to stop bouncing as he walked. “Guess those practices were worth your time too, huh?”

“My mom probably freaked out,” Steve admitted, face splitting widely with joy. “And you were… you were _amazing_. You made me feel like I was doing something right.”

Bucky stopped walking, regarding Steve with a small frown. “That wasn’t me. That was all you. _You_ were amazing and adapted so quickly. I didn’t need to make you _feel_ like you were doing something right because you already were.”

Steve was staring at Bucky’s lips by the end of that little speech. His breathing was noticeably heavier—and it probably wasn’t from all the dancing. “Bucky…”

To say Bucky was confused would be an understatement. There was definitely a tension here he was unable to read. He furrowed his eyebrows, frowning. “Steve?”

Just like that, Steve was surging forward, clutching onto Bucky like his life depended on it and pressing their lips together. It was eager and desperate at first, but it soon turned to confusion and hesitation as Bucky just stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his entire body. His lips were pressed together, not kissing back, and the rest of his body was frozen in place.

“Oh, god,” Steve said, taking a step back and running a hand over his face. “Oh my god.”

Bucky parted his lips and all that came out was a raspy, “What?”

Steve shook his head, panicked. “I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.”

“I…” Bucky didn’t know what to say. _I’m sorry? What the fuck was that? Since when?_ Instead, all he said again was, “I’m not gay.”

“I just thought…” Steve shook his head again and clenched his fists, looking at Bucky with teary eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said one last time, then ran away.

Bucky’s reaction time was a whole lot slower this time, and he stood there rooted on the spot for about ten seconds before he shook himself out of the confused trance he was in and called after Steve.

Of course, by then, Steve was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Bucky bumped into Hill as he was searching for Steve. Hill said a few words that flew past his head, mostly to congratulate him and then say a goodbye.

Hill patted his shoulder. “You were one of my best students, Barnes. I’m glad I had the chance to train you.”

Bucky was able to compose himself enough to thank Hill with a smile. “Thanks for being my mentor,” he said, then he was running off again.

Bucky returned to the dressing room to take his phone (and his other less important things), trying to call Steve. That, of course, did not work. Every time Bucky tried to ring him, the call ended immediately. The texts were ignored, and Bucky felt worse and worse by the moment.

“Barton!” Bucky yelled when he saw Clint inside the other dressing room. “Have you seen Steve?”

“Uh, no.” Clint glanced back down to the table he was standing over. “His stuff’s gone, though. Why?”

Bucky regarded Clint for a few seconds. All of his words, all the _he backed out again!_ or _you’re his favorite person_ things. There _was_ a reason he had been saying those things. “ _You_ knew.”

Clint furrowed his eyebrows. “Knew what?”

“That Steve likes me! You knew!”

“Oh, did he finally tell you?”

“Yes!”

He grinned. “Isn’t that great?”

Bucky gave him a dark look. “ _Why_ is that great? He kissed me.”

There was a small pause. Clint tilted his head, confused. “Yeah, and?”

The answer, to Bucky, was quite obvious. To Clint, apparently, it wasn’t, because his face still showed a confusion akin to that of a man in a labyrinth. Bucky waved his hands in the air. “And I don’t like him that way.”

Clint blinked, taking a small step back. “You _don’t?_ ”

“I’m not gay.”

“You _aren’t?_ ”

“Do I look gay to you?!”

“Well, maybe not obviously gay, but you look very into Steve.”

“ _What?!_ ” Bucky practically screeched. “He’s my friend!”

At that moment, Clint’s phone beeped and he glanced at it for a second before looking back at Bucky. “I could stand here all day and list the reasons why the two of you act more like boyfriends than friends,” he scrunched his nose, “but I need to go. And you should probably find Steve. Or not. Because he probably doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

“I am leaving for Russia in _two weeks_ ,” Bucky said, “I am _not_ leaving for Russia without talking to him.”

“You’ve still got two weeks. Dude, you _just_ rejected him, and he’s really hurt. He needs some space. If you don’t realize that, then I can’t help you.”

Bucky bit his lip, then nodded. “You’re right,” he said, walking away from Clint. “You can’t help me.”

He walked around the theater more, but it seemed Steve had already left.

Once he was in the audience area, his parents and Becca were all there to congratulate him. Well, his mom and Becca were there to congratulate him. His father muttered something about Steve being a horrible choice. Bucky would’ve punched him then and there if he wasn’t so worried. Then they decided it was time to go home and Bucky had no way of stalling without having to explain everything (which was _not_ an option).

“Are you alright?” Becca asked. Their parents were walking in front of them, leading them to the car. Bucky was still looking around for any sign of Steve.

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky mumbled.

Becca frowned at him. “You seem a little out of it.”

“Uhuh.” Bucky looked to his left, squinting his eyes as he saw a short blond climbing into a car. _Steve!_ “Shit. Wait here,” he told his sister, already bounding away and calling, “Steve!”

Steve glanced up at his voice, and it was obvious he had been crying. His lips parted in surprise, then he hurried into his car.

By the time Bucky reached him, the car was already driving away, leaving Bucky by the sidewalk with a crestfallen look on his face.

“Okay, _what_ was that?” Becca asked when he walked back to her.

Bucky took a deep breath and shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

* * *

As it turned out, Bucky was, in fact, leaving for Russia without talking to Steve first.

It took about one week of calling Steve about twenty times a day before Bucky finally gave up and hurled his phone at the wall, actually breaking it this time (so he was given a new phone _without_ a number since he was going to be changing it in Russia anyway). Over the week, he had gone from feeling guilty to just plain _furious_. He didn’t have much time left and Steve was _still_ ignoring him. The one time Bucky tried going to Steve’s house, no one even came to the door even though he stood there for thirty minutes.

So, a week later, when Bucky was waiting near the boarding gate with his mom, he was still fuming.

“Are you excited?” his mom asked after an awfully long period of silence.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You know the answer to that.” Although, at this point, he was slightly more accepting about going to Russia, because then he didn’t have to deal with a new year at SAB with Steve actively avoiding him (because Steve would be actively avoiding him, for sure).

His mom sighed, and that was the end of _that_ conversation.

Bucky closed his eyes, leaning back as he waited for his boarding call. At the end of the day, he figured Steve was never going to want to talk to him again. It was probably time to stop thinking about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... oops?
> 
> I promise they will sort it out, we're only halfway through the story :)


	8. Chapter 8

#  _Part 2_

Bucky was nineteen years old when he met Natasha Romonava. They were the newest members of the Bolshoi Theater’s Corps de Ballet, and they were partnered together for _Don Quixote._

The two of them had been head-to-head, often competing to see who would first get the next promotion. Bucky beat her to Principal first, becoming a Principal dancer for the Bolshoi by the age of twenty. Natasha soon joined him one year later as Principal after their tour of _La Bayadère_.

Bucky would still think about Steve sometimes, but having a new friend kept him from being upset 24/7. He was rather grateful for having met Natasha; not only was her presence bearable, but she knew how to critique Bucky’s dancing when needed (and knew when to back down). She was an incredible dancer, too, and Bucky soon learned to view her talent as a motivation to do better himself.

Back when he was a teenager, Bucky had been ridiculously overconfident but at the same time insecure about making one small mistake. 

Those things still held true today, now that he was twenty-four, but he had also realized that there were a _lot_ of talented people out there, and he just had to strive _more_ to do better, and that making one small mistake wouldn’t necessarily be the end of the world. Devastating, sure, but not the end.

He had improved. A little.

“James,” Natasha said, walking into his small apartment with the key he had given her two months ago. She refused to call him Bucky and pronounced James more like _Zheyms_.

“I gave you that key for emergencies,” Bucky said in Russian. The only time he ever spoke English these days was whenever his mom or Becca visited him. Or when he was on tour in a different country. He never went back to America to be with his parents once he had graduated from the Academy.

“This is an emergency,” Natasha told him. She set down a piece of paper in front of him. “Our next tour is _Swan Lake_.”

Bucky almost choked. “What?” Why would she think that would matter to him? He never told her about Steve.

“Pierce is the casting director.” Oh, so _that_ was why.

“Will you be auditioning for Siegfried?”

“Hm. Yeah.”

“You will not get the part.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shoving the paper away. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Natasha scoffed. “You know what I mean.”

She wasn’t wrong. Three years ago, during Bucky’s second year as Principal, he attended this party in honor of… well, it was in honor of someone important to the theater that he hadn’t really paid much attention to.

That was where he met Alexander Pierce.

Their first encounter wasn’t too bad. Pierce definitely gave Bucky a _very_ stiff vibe, but otherwise he was just like any pretentious asshole that made up most of the party (Bucky included). But then towards the end of the night, Bucky had gotten a little too drunk despite Natasha’s protests and ended up approaching Pierce to tell him he looked too out of shape to be a dancer. In Bucky’s defense, he didn’t really _mean_ it. His drunken self was just trying to be funny, which clearly didn’t go over too well.

To make matters worse, Bucky went on to dig himself into a deeper hole. Said a lot of things… that better went forgotten.

In the end, Alexander Pierce did _not_ like him.

Bucky sighed. “I don’t like _Swan Lake_ anyway.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“Yeah, not a fan.” Bucky just shrugged, standing up. “Anything else?”

There was a brief silence where Natasha just stood there, frowning at Bucky like he was insane. Then, she nodded. “Yes, actually. There’s one more thing I wanted to talk about.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you plan on going in for a renewal of your contract?”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. His contract with the Bolshoi _did_ just end (and he had received numerous contract offers from companies around the world), but it hadn’t even crossed his mind to go to any of those other companies. “Yeah, I’m renewing it. Why?” 

“I was thinking of moving to America,” she said, giving a small, sheepish smile to let Bucky know that this was _not_ a joke.

He blinked at her. “Uh.”

“Obviously, I’m not saying I want you to go with me. I’m just telling you since you don’t really have anyone else here.”

“Yes, I do,” Bucky huffed. She cocked an eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes. “I’ve got Katya.”

“You had three conversations with her and suddenly you’re friends?”

“Okay, fine. I can always make some—” Bucky exhaled audibly, “I can get by on my own. Why do you want to move anyway?”

“Years of isolation isn’t the healthiest idea,” Natasha said. She sat down on Bucky’s bed. “Don’t you feel stagnant here? Maybe it’s not the same for you, but the Bolshoi is all I’ve known my whole life, I want to try a different company.”

“You can go for Mariinsky.”

“James, I want to get _out_ of Russia. What’s so wrong with America? The ABT is great. They have already invited me.”

Bucky spluttered. “There’s nothing _wrong_ with America.” Except _everything_ about it. “It’s just… you know?”

“No, I don’t. Anyway, I am just telling you, I may not even join the Bolshoi for _Swan Lake_ this year.”

Bucky sighed. Neither of them said a word as Natasha walked out his apartment.

* * *

“Hey, Becks,” Bucky grinned, giving his little sister a kiss on the cheek as he let her into his apartment. They only had a few days before her before her break was over, and he’d missed her a lot. “How’s American college life treating you?”

Becca walked inside, barely even glancing at Bucky. She quickly walked to the couch, sat down, and then just burst into tears.

Worry came over Bucky as soon as she buried her face in her hands. He stood still for a while, not knowing what to do. Usually, when his sister came over, she was ecstatic. Of course, there were times when she would get sad, but those moments usually occurred towards the end of her visits.

“What’s… what’s wrong?”

She mumbled something into her hands.

“What?” Bucky asked. He sat next to her, wrapping a consoling arm around her.

Becca lifted her face up, turning to Bucky, her face blotched with tear stains. “I’m pregnant.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped, and he almost yelled out an appalled _what?!_ , but his sister was so clearly terrified already that he pushed away his initial reaction, shook his head to calm himself a little, and settled with a soft yet confused, “Oh.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Becca sobbed again, this time burying her face in Bucky’s chest.

Bucky swallowed. He really didn’t know what to do either. He’d never even had sex. Pregnancy was one of those things that he never really had to think about. Mostly because he was a boy and also because there was never anyone he had to worry about knocking up.

“Is… is the father involved?”

Becca pulled away. “You’ll kill me if I told you who it is.”

“Who is it?”

She shook her head. “You’ll freak.”

He frowned, nudging her. “Who is it?”

“Brock Rumlow.”

It took everything in Bucky not to yell or spit out a load of expletives. His voice cracked as he looked back at his sister. “I’m not freaking out,” he said, face pinched tight in effort.

“I’m sorry!” Becca said. She stood up, rubbing a hand over her face. “I was drunk and I wasn’t really thinking. Plus, it’s not like I knew who he was beforehand! I only found out about you two after I talked to Ward.”

“You talked to _Ward?!_ Grant Ward?!” he paused. “Huh. They’re still friends?” He honestly assumed they’d go their separate ways once finished with SAB. Like Bucky and Steve. Because all friendships end anyway.

“They were at the frat party.”

“They’re in college?”

Becca wrinkled her nose. “No, they just went to the party.”

“What were _you_ doing at a frat party?”

She gave him a blank look, looking completely tired of him. “Bucky, I’m in college,” she said, as if that explained everything. To most people, it probably did, but Bucky never _went_ to college. He didn’t go to frat parties. He went to formal parties and got drunk on the side mostly because he was sad and not because he wanted to be wild.

So, no, he did not really understand his sister’s need to go have sex with Brock Rumlow at some college frat party.

But what was done was done and now all he could do was be there for his sister.

“So have you told him? Is he gonna be around?” he asked tentatively. He knew he wouldn’t like whichever answer it was going to be.

“Yes, well, he pretty much freaked out and never called back, so no, he won’t be around.”

“Becks…”

“I know I can do this, Bucky.” She looked at him, convinced. “I just… it’s… I’ll need some support.”

“Okay. Okay. Support.” He could do support. He thought about his conversation with Natasha earlier and brightened up. “I can do that. I’m planning to go back to America anyway.”

“You _are_?” Well, not until now, but he wasn’t going to tell her that (she would be furious and probably force him to stay). “But I thought you liked it here?”

“Eh, well, you know. Change of scenery would be nice. Plus, the casting director hates me.” At least _that_ was true. “You want me to move in with you or just move somewhere nearby?”

“I have a roommate. It’s fine. Did you already get a job?”

Bucky waved a hand in the air. “I’ll accept the offer from American Ballet.”

Becca smiled, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky said, ruffling her hair a little, “and if you need me to beat up Rumlow, I’m there. No questions asked.”

She snorted. “Please.”

“What? You don’t think I can beat him up?”

“No, no, I think you can beat him up _just_ fine.”

“That’s what I thought.”

* * *

Three days later, Bucky was the one walking into Natasha’s apartment this time. His sister had just gone back to America, and he had just spent the last few days taking care of the requirements and forms that were needed to transfer to the ABT.

“Good news, I’m moving to America with you!” he declared as he walked into the apartment.

Natasha was on her couch, laptop in front of her. “ _Chto?_ ” she asked. _What?_

“I’ve had a change of heart.” He sat down on the couch, arms spread wide. “I miss America.”

She stifled a laugh. “No, you don’t.”

Well… she had him there. “Okay, so, maybe I don’t. But I want to go back anyway. For you.”

“James, please.”

“Oh, come on!” Was he really that obvious? He rolled his eyes, putting his arms down. “Fine. My sister’s pregnant. I want to be around to help her out.”

Natasha smiled, all sweet and kind—Bucky was honestly scared. “That’s sweet.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, I already sent in my resume to ABT.”

Natasha nodded, finally setting aside her laptop. “I did too. Where do you plan on living?”

“Huh. I have not thought about that.” He leaned back on the couch, staring into open space. “Well, Becks studies in NYU, which isn’t far from ABT.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, looking over at Natasha. “What do you think about rooming together?”

Natasha pursed her lips for a moment, giving Bucky an expression that looked more like a grimace. She shook her head. “I already have someone to move in with.”

 _That_ was the last thing Bucky expected. “What? Who?”

“My boyfriend.”

“You have a _boyfriend_?!” he screeched, standing up. “Natalia, I have known you for _years_ , how did I not know? How long have you guys been dating.”

“Three years.” She shrugged. “Never came up. All those times I said I was going on vacation, I actually went to America to meet up with him.”

“How was I supposed to ask if I didn’t know there was anything worth asking about?” Bucky huffed and sat back down, crossing his arms. “Where’d you two meet?”

“Online.”

Bucky squinted at her. It was as if she was this whole new person. Years of friendship and _he never knew_. “Never pegged you for online dating. What’s his name?”

“Clint.”

Bucky’s lips parted slightly, a croaked sound escaped him as he gave Natasha an odd look. He swallowed. “Please tell me his last name isn’t Barton.”

Natasha blinked. “It _is_. Do you know him?

“Among other things,” Bucky muttered. “You never mentioned me to him, have you?”

“I’ve mentioned you. Though I do refer to you James, and I am the only one who calls you that.”

“Despite my insistence otherwise.” Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. “Well, he probably doesn’t remember me anyway. Everything’s way in the past.”

“ _You_ remember him.”

“Yes, but…”

“What happened between you two? Were you guys enemies or something?”

“Enemies, no.” He tilted his head. “Well, sort of. I didn’t like him. But it wasn’t really about us, anyway. I just remember him because of Steve.”

“Steve? His friend Steve?”

Bucky snorted. “They’re still friends? Go figure.” _He_ lost Steve after all those promises of being best friends, and now _Clint_ had Steve. Not that Bucky missed Steve. Steve left him in the dust and never called. “Does he still look like the wind could knock him over? He was very small. About yea high.” Bucky held a hand in front of him to try to show how tall Steve was back then.

“I’m not sure about the height, but I do know he’s blond. Clint mentioned dyeing his own hair blond at one point. _Just like Steve’s_ , he said.”

“What? Were they a couple or something?” That was such a ridiculous thing to ask, but the very idea _was_ beginning to make Bucky’s temper flare up again.

“Uh, no.” Natasha shifted around a little, leaning her elbow on the couch. “Did you hate Steve or something?”

“What? No. Of course not.” Well, towards the end he felt _angry_ , and definitely _frustrated_. He did vow to never think of Steve again, but that was mostly due to the fact that he hated being ignored. But he didn’t hate _Steve_. “Far from it.”

“Is he your ex-boyfriend?” was the next conclusion Natasha jumped to, which made Bucky jolt a little.

“Excuse me?”

“What? You just sounded wistful, so I thought—”

“I’m not _gay_.”

She held up a hand in front of her to calm him down. “Relax, I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything. It wouldn’t be so wrong if you were.”

“Well, I’m not,” he insisted. He wasn’t gay. It was impossible. “He was my best friend.”

“Did you guys lose touch?”

“He ghosted me after he kissed me.”

It was a very short statement, and yet Bucky felt like a huge gate of longing and sadness just opened in his heart. Ever since the day he last saw Steve, he had never talked about this with anyone—not even Becca. It had happened long ago, but a part of him couldn’t let it go, no matter how much he tried to convince himself to.

Natasha was quiet for a moment, exhaling softly. “Wow. I take it you rejected him first?”

“Yes. But I called him everyday for a week after that. It wasn’t like _I_ ghosted _him_.”

“You ever been rejected by someone you like?”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. Huh. He’d never really thought about romantic relationships or feelings before. “I never really had a crush to be rejected by. People were never really my priority.”

“So, you have had two friends in your life and zero crushes.” Natasha clicked her tongue. “The crushes I can understand, but the friends… James, you need to get out more.”

“Keeping up with so many people at once is exhausting. I have you and I had Steve. I’m okay with that.”

“Except you still miss Steve, don’t you?” She put a hand on his arm consolingly, as though she understood what he felt. She did not. Not in the way Bucky felt it. “You’re not okay with the fact that you aren’t friends with him anymore.”

“Whether I miss him or not, I have to be okay. It’s not like me missing him will bring him back. Plus, I’m still mad at him, so even if I _did_ see him again, I won’t be all friendly, you know?”

Natasha patted him. “We can leave it at that,” she said, which is one of the reasons Bucky loved Natasha. She knew when to shut up. “We should start looking for an apartment for you.”

“Ugh. House hunting.”

“You can always live in the streets, if you want.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

Within a month, everything was finalized, and Bucky felt jittery just thinking about moving back to America. A month ago, he wouldn’t have even dreamt about it, and now, here he was, packing his things and getting ready to go back. He called his mom a week ago to inform her. Obviously, she was elated, and made him promise to visit once he was settled in his new apartment.

“Clint’s going to pick us up at the airport,” Natasha said, leaning by the doorway. “If that’s alright with you.”

“No problem,” Bucky replied, even though he was slightly nervous.

“That’s all your things?” Natasha frowned, staring at the luggage in Bucky’s apartment.

“Well, some of them I’m having shipped out. Plus, it’s not like I grew up here. I’ve got stuff in America too.” Bucky lifted one bag from the bed and set it on the floor. “I don’t have much stuff here.”

“Weren’t you planning on living here?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I don’t _need_ a lot of stuff.”

“Whatever you say. Come on, we’ve got a cab waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a time jump and they're all grown up now! Hopefully they'll get the chance to sort things out :)


	9. Chapter 9

“Hello again, America,” Bucky said—in English, this time. He put his sunglasses on as they stepped out of the airport.

“Have you missed it, James?” Natasha said, switching to English too.

Bucky turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. “ _That_ is the first time I have ever heard you speak in English.” He paused. “Except for the time when we first met and you thought I didn’t know Russian so you called me an American idiot. Which, by the way, is a song.”

Natasha snorted. “I know how to speak English. Why would I move to a country and not know its language?”

“I _know_ you know how to speak English. But it’s the first time I’ve heard you speak it. It’s unsettling.”

“Unsettling?”

Bucky shrugged, then grinned as he said, “You’re a lot scarier when you speak Russian.”

“ _Иди на хуй_ ,” Natasha muttered.

“Really? Go fuck myself? You’ve got better insults than that, I’m sure.”

Natasha simply rolled her eyes, smacking his chest as she pushed her cart away. Bucky walked after her, nudging his own cart along. Natasha pulled her phone out, dialing Clint’s number. The moment they landed, she’d bought a SIM card, as did Bucky.

“Clint? It’s Natasha.” She nodded as Clint presumably spoke into her ear, and then looked at Bucky. “Yes, we’re here.” She nodded again then looked at Bucky. “TWB 1619.”

Bucky looked at her weirdly. “What?”

“The plate number!” she sighed, then spoke into her phone again. “Okay, see you. I love you.” She put her phone in her pocket and looked at Bucky. “Did you remember that?”

“It ended with a 9,” Bucky said, pretty confident about that.

She smacked his chest again (which was really painful, by the way). “You are useless.”

“Okay, ow. Both physically and emotionally.” He put a hand to his chest. “I didn’t know I was supposed to memorize it.”

“Then why would I tell you?”

“I don’t know!”

“Idiot.”

Offended, he crossed his arms and sniffed. “I take it back. You’re mean when you speak English.”

“James, please.” Natasha looked around the place, perking up as she caught sight of a BMW. “There!”

Bucky squinted at it, slowly pushing his cart after a hurried Natasha. He furrowed his eyebrows as the car came nearer. “I didn’t know Barney was a transformer,” he said, because the car was purple. It was a bright disgusting purple that Bucky could not process at all.

Natasha didn’t even hear him. Or if she did, she ignored him. He wasn’t sure which option he was supposed to be more disgruntled by, really.

The car stopped in front of them, and Clint Barton stepped out, giving Bucky an arrogant smile. “Well, if it isn’t Bucky Barnes. Finally decided to come back, eh?”

Replying would only encourage him more, so Bucky just smiled a tight smile and shoved both his and Natasha’s luggage into the back of the car. He wrinkled his nose as Natasha and Clint shared a kiss that lasted longer than necessary.

When they were in the car, Natasha typed in Bucky’s new address into Waze and showed it to Clint. Clint blinked at it for a moment, giving a brief glance to the back. “ _This_ is where you’re living?”

“Yes. It’s close to ABT.”

Clint laughed at that as though Bucky had just said the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Oh, this is going to be great!”

Bucky was not impressed. He didn’t even crack a smile. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, nothing. Just. ABT.” Clint smirked; Bucky could see the asshole’s glee through the rearview mirror. “It’ll be great. Like old times.”

“What?” Bucky asked. “Are you in ABT too?” Because if he was, then Bucky was transferring companies as soon as possible.

“No. I haven’t done ballet in a while. Never really loved it, you know? Not as much as you two, at least.”

Bucky honestly didn’t know if he was surprised by that information, but it wasn’t really something he was concerned with. “Then what the hell are you on about?”

Clint just laughed again and that was that. Bucky didn’t even bother trying anymore. He just sat back in his seat with a grunt and stared out the window. He had _not_ missed America.

* * *

“Listen, man,” Clint said as they set down Bucky’s things in his new apartment. He already had Becca arrange the furniture and everything else in his apartment, so all he really needed to bring was his personal stuff. Clint handed him a bag, “I _may_ find this funny right now, but if you do anything wrong, I swear I will kill you.”

Bucky clenched his jaw; this guy _seriously_ knew how to get on his nerves. “It’s really hard for me to feel threatened when I don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about.”

Clint scanned him up and down then patted his shoulder. “You’ll get there.”

“Fuck you.” This man was _still_ such a dick.

Natasha just stared at the two of them, unimpressed. She nodded at Bucky. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bucky waved them off; he still had to contact his mom and sister.

After five minutes of debating whether or not to call his mom first or go visit her directly, he finally decided on the latter since it had five months since he last saw her. He just hoped his father wasn’t around. Though if he was, Bucky could always pretend like he wasn’t there. Same thing.

So, instead of unpacking what looked to be more things than Bucky remembered owning, he grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys, and left his storage room of an apartment.

He stepped into the empty elevator, pressing the Ground button before leaning back on the railings, closing his eyes for a few moments. He was still exhausted from the flight, and may even be experiencing slight jet lag.

Given his tiredness, he decided it was alright to take a cab for now. He could afford it. He didn’t want to walk or go into a subway. He rattled his address off to the driver, then took a very short nap in the back seat, head resting against the window.

It wasn’t long before they were at his mom’s place, and he groggily exited the cab and walked up to the house he hadn’t seen in five years. “Home sweet home,” he muttered, pressing the doorbell. Frankly, he had no idea where his key to this house was. He knew it was with him somewhere, he just didn’t know where exactly.

“James!” his mom cried when she opened the door. She pulled him into a hug, and Bucky could almost feel her tears dampening his shirt.

“Hi, mom,” he said, softly. “How’ve you been?”

“I can’t believe you came back,” she said. The door opened wider, and Bucky was soon face-to-face with his father as well. They both gave each other impassive nods, then his father walked past them, heading for the car. Bucky’s mom stared after the car as it left, then sighed. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, wiping her eyes, “I tried to convince him to stay for a little.”

“Probably better that he didn’t,” Bucky admitted. He walked into the house with both a sense of familiarity and a lack thereof. Not much had changed, but it still felt odd. “Is Becca doing alright?”

His mom gave him an odd look. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

Bucky blinked, regarding her for a moment. Only then did it dawn on him that Becca _hadn’t told her_. Which meant that his mom thought that he came back on his own volition. He licked his lips, uncertain, then shrugged. “College is a stressful time, is all.”

Whether his mom knew he was lying or not, she didn’t say.

“What do you want for dinner?” she asked.

Bucky grinned, glad for the change in subject. “Anything, as long as you cook it.” It had been so long since he had a tasteful home-cooked meal. Most of the things he made were straight out of a can. Natasha wasn’t any better than him when it came to the kitchen, either.

* * *

After lunch with his mom, Bucky said goodbye, assuring her that he was going to come visit as often as possible. His next stop was his sister’s dorm in NYU, which wasn’t too far from his own apartment.

He intended to have a talk with his sister about not telling their parents about the pregnancy, but that disappeared when he saw Brock Rumlow banging on his sister’s door.

“Rumlow,” Bucky called out. He was happy to see that he was taller than Rumlow, and a little buffer. Bucky would say that he’d kick Rumlow’s ass for his sister, but really, he’d kick Rumlow’s ass just for the fun of it.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Rumlow spat once he caught sight of Bucky. “Russia finally kicked you out?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Did this guy really not know? “I’m here because you got my sister knocked up, you dick.”

“Your sis—” Rumlow glanced between the door and Bucky, eyes widening the slightest bit. “Oh, yeah.”

“Uhuh, yeah. So either you’re here to be a father to the kid,” which was not an option Bucky really liked, considering said father is a complete asshole, “or you get the fuck out of my sight.”

“I _did_ get the fuck out,” he snarled, “but _she_ ,” he jerked his thumb at the door, “is demanding I pay for child support. I don’t have that sort of fucking money lying around.”

“So you came here to tell her to stop demanding support from the _father_ of her child?”

“I came here to tell her to not have the baby.”

Bucky was a second away from punching this guy. “You fucking serious?”

“She clearly can’t afford to raise the kid if she wants me to support it too. So, you know, why have the kid at all?”

“Seriously, Rumlow,” Bucky plastered on a fake smile, “get the fuck out of my sight before I make your nose bleed.”

Rumlow didn’t back down. “Still got that temper issue, don’t you, Barnes?”

“When it comes to you? Fuck yeah, I do.”

Before Bucky could actually throw his fist, Becca’s door opened, and she looked between the both of them and sighed.

“Brock, just leave.”

“No, we need to talk about this.”

“We’ll talk about it later. The baby isn’t coming for _months_ , anyway. Just get out. I don’t wanna see you right now.”

Bucky grinned as Rumlow huffed and walked away. He waved his hand mockingly. “Bye, bye, _Brock_.”

“You!” Becca hissed, dragging Bucky into her dorm.

“Uh, good to see you too?” Bucky said as Becca slammed the door.

Becca huffed, rubbing a hand over her face, clearly exasperated. “Don’t go picking fights with Brock.”

“To be fair, he started it.”

“You started to threaten to punch him.” Well, she wasn’t wrong. “As much as I appreciate that—and believe me, I _do_ —it doesn’t really help.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the door for a second. “Just forget that asshole. You don’t need to beg for financial support. I can help you.”

“Bucky, I love you, but I’m not asking you for money.”

“I—”

“Brock’s my problem, not yours, alright? Let me deal with him.” Becca pulled him into a brief hug. “How was your flight?”

“Good. I was at mom’s earlier.”

She pulled a way, tilting her head warily. “Oh yeah?”

Bucky sighed, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Why haven’t you told her?”

Becca was quiet for a moment, squinting at Bucky as though she was trying to figure something out. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“What? No, of course not. Though a little warning could’ve been nice.” He could’ve outright asked about Becca’s pregnancy, since he didn’t even know it was a topic to be avoided in the first place.

“Just... I don’t know. Dad would freak out, for sure.”

“Yeah, well, his approval shouldn’t mean shit.”

Becca smiled at him, a little sad. “Bucky, dad and I are actually a little close. His approval _does_ mean something to me.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m sure mom would be supportive. Plus, you’ll always have me.”

“I know I do.”

“Do you want me to come with you when you tell them?”

She frowned. “No. I don’t think so. You might just... make things worse.”

He snorted. “True, I suppose.”

Long ago, Becca would’ve said something like ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ or ‘ _Don’t you feel bad?_ ’, but at this point, she knew well enough that Bucky couldn’t care less. His relationship with his dad was well and truly over, and there was no point in trying to mend it. Hell, there was no point in mourning it, even.

So, she just nodded, hugged him again, and invited him to watch a movie.

* * *

After Becca’s, Bucky went home exhausted as fuck. He stumbled into the elevator, already half asleep. It was still pretty early (10 pm), but he had to be up at 6 tomorrow to go to ABT for some orientation.

“Fuck,” he mumbled as his key fell to the floor when he tried to fish it out. He stared at it for ten seconds, not wanting to bend down and grab it.

Just as he was about to, a door in a different hall opened, and he could hear a familiar voice saying, “I’ll see you around, Sam.” The voice, however, he couldn’t really place, and he was way too sleepy to give it much thought.

Bucky bent to pick up his key with a groan and walked into his apartment, setting the key on the otherwise empty counter. A shower was tempting but sleep more so. He could just shower tomorrow, he decided, as he flopped down onto his pillowless bed and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, can you guess what's up with Clint's reaction?


	10. Chapter 10

“Mr. Barnes, Ms. Romanova,” said the general director of ABT. The eye patch the guy was wearing was a little intimidating, if Bucky was being honest. It didn’t help that he didn’t even crack a smile.

“Director Fury,” Natasha said, because apparently she had done her research beforehand. Also, she looked way too put together for someone who had just moved countries _yesterday_.

Bucky looked like a wreck since he’d decided to wear the same clothes he wore yesterday. In his defense, he woke up late and didn’t have time to search for new clothes. Bucky may also be going commando at the moment, but that was really was nobody’s business. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Fury began to give a basic overview of what was expected of them, what the future plans of the company were, and all the things that Bucky could barely care about. He nodded along at the appropriate times, but Natasha was staring at him with amusement, barely holding back a smile.

“Given your previous accomplishments and references from the Bolshoi, you two will be principal dancers for the American Ballet.” Bucky already knew that since he confirmed it with ABT before he moved, but it was nice hearing it again. He smiled at Fury.

There was a knock on the door before Fury could continue, and he sighed as he told the person to come in.

When the person did, Bucky wished he could jump out the window.

His jaw dropped as he saw Steve Rogers walk inside in what seemed to be the body of Zeus, perhaps. Whether Bucky was more in shock to see Steve Rogers or to see what he looked like, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and Steve turned to him, doing a double take as well.

“Oh,” was all Steve said.

Natasha looked between them. She probably figured it out by now.

Fury, it seemed, was unaware of any tension in the room. “This is Steve Rogers, a principal dancer here at the ABT as well. He was promoted to Principal last year, and he is one of our most promising dancers. I’ve asked him to show the two of you around for today. You may begin training tomorrow. This summer, we’ll be doing _La Sylphide_. However, we won’t be doing a full tour for it. Just three locations, so there won’t be multiple casts. Meaning there will likely be auditions for the lead parts.”

Bucky tilted his head with a small smile. “When will these auditions be?”

“Two weeks from now.” Fury then looked at Steve. “Rogers, this is James Barnes and Natasha Romanova. I trust you know what to do.”

Steve was actively avoiding Bucky’s gaze. He grit his teeth. “Yes, sir.” With a smile plastered to his face, he looked at Natasha. “If you would please follow me,” he said, already walking out the room.

“You said he was small,” Natasha whispered into Bucky’s ear when they stood to follow Steve.

Bucky flapped his hand in the air. “I thought so too!”

Steve fell in step with them, right next to Natasha. “Where did you move from?” he asked her. _Her_ , specifically. It was clear to Bucky that Steve was not welcoming him into the conversation.

But Natasha was.

“James and I came from the Bolshoi,” she said, not hinting that she knew _anything_ about Steve.

“That’s nice,” Steve said, “How long have _you_ been there?”

“In the company itself? Well...” Natasha glanced at Bucky, “what age did we start, James?”

She damn well knew when they started; she just wanted him to talk, the bastard. Bucky clenched his jaw. “Nineteen.”

“And James here became principal at twenty.” She patted him with a smirk. Clearly, this was bringing her some sort of sadistic joy.

Bucky glared at her. “ _Thank you_ , Natasha.”

“Did you become principal at twenty too?” Steve asked her, _still_ ignoring Bucky. That’s fine. Two could play that game.

“No, it took me one more year to catch up. I don’t think I’m quite as good as this idiot.” To annoy Bucky more, Natasha lifted her hand and rubbed his cheek mockingly.

Steve looked at the hand on Bucky’s face, looked at Natasha, then _finally_ looked at Bucky. “Oh. Are you... are you two together?”

Bucky couldn’t help but snort, and Natasha busted out laughing, her hand dropping from his cheek. “ _I think he’s jealous_ ,” she said to Bucky in Russian, laughing a little more. Bucky rolled his eyes at the ridiculous insinuation. She turned back to Steve. “No, we’re not. I have a boyfriend. You know him, I believe. Clint Barton?”

“Oh! You’re the girlfriend!” Steve smiled a little. “He’s been very secretive about it, never even told me your name.”

“He was probably going to introduce you sometime. He just picked us up from the airport yesterday.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “Us? As in you two?” 

Natasha nodded.

“He was with _you_?”

And _that_ question was no longer directed at Natasha. Steve was giving Bucky a hardened gaze, full of confusion and anger.

Bucky looked back quietly, not sure if he could say anything that _wouldn’t_ escalate the situation. “Yes. Is that a problem?” Okay, so maybe that came off a little irritated than he intended.

Steve inhaled deeply, looking away from both of them before he pasted a fake smile on his face. “No, of course not.” He swallowed, then pushed open a random door. “So, this is rehearsal room A, which looks exactly like every other rehearsal room.”

And so began the most awkward tour of Bucky’s life.

* * *

“You know what I don’t get is why _he’s_ mad at _me_ ,” Bucky muttered when they split up for lunch, with Steve telling them they would meet up again at 1:30. “What did _I_ do?”

“I only know your side of the story, so I don’t know,” Natasha said. “Though he looks less like he’s mad and more like he’s uncomfortable.”

“He was deliberately ignoring me. How could you say he isn’t mad?”

Natasha, seated right across from Bucky with her hands clasped in front of her like a businesswoman, sighed. “James, does it really matter?”

_Yes_ , Bucky wanted to say, _Yes, it matters because I haven’t seen him in years and it was all his fault, so he has no right to be mad_. But then that would make it seem as though Bucky had done nothing but think about Steve since he was sixteen. So, instead, he shook his head and looked down at his plate. “No, I guess not. I don’t care.”

“You know it’s alright if it does matter right?”

“Who cares? It’s not like we broke up. We weren’t boyfriends,” he grumbled.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I never said you were.”

“Okay.” Bucky was _not_ okay. “Just... for a second there, it kind of looked like that’s what you were thinking.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“We weren’t,” Bucky insisted. “We weren’t. We weren’t.”

Natasha closed her eyes. There was a little twitch of a smile in her lips. “Yes, we’ve established that.”

“Good. I’m just making sure.”

Bucky watched her carefully, knowing she was holding back something. Without a doubt, Clint had mentioned things to her that she wasn’t telling Bucky. The sensible thing to do was ask, but Bucky didn’t want to look like he cared. He was going for the ‘I don’t give a shit’ vibe. Steve could be as cold as he wanted to be, and Bucky would _not_ care.

Natasha just smiled at him softly. “So, what role are you aiming for?”

“Ruben, _obviously_ ,” Bucky said. The fact that Steve was here made him even more eager to get that lead role. Show him Bucky was doing _fine_. Great, even.

Natasha snorted. “You _just_ arrived here.”

“So what? I’m good.” He looked at her curiously. “Aren’t you going for the Sylph?”

“Yes, but I’m not a hundred percent _sure_ I’ll get it.”

“I’m good. So are you. We’ll get it.”

There was a small laugh, and Natasha shook her head. “I don’t know how you’ve maintained that confidence your whole life.”

Well, sometimes he wasn’t exactly that confident, but he was often praised for his dancing and even if he was rejected by a role he wanted (not that it happened often), he wound up delivering spectacular performances for whichever role he landed anyway. Bucky being a good dancer was more of a fact than something he wondered about, really.

He shrugged. “Comes easy.”

* * *

The rest of the tour was as awkward as it had been since they began, but Steve and Natasha would try to make small talk. Bucky did nothing to try and participate; he just stared blankly at the rooms and facilities.

At the end, Steve gave their schedules. Well, more like he gave Natasha the schedules so Natasha would give Bucky his. “If you’ve got any issues you can take it up with Fury or Hill. Hill’s our Ballet Director.”

Bucky finally spoke, leaning over Natasha to look at Steve. “Hill? Maria Hill? She’s _here_?” People should’ve led with _that_.

“Yeah. Uh, she transferred here last year.” Steve could barely look him in the eye.

Bucky glanced around the corridor even though he had barely seen everyone come and go the entire time. “Where is she?”

“In her office. You’re not really supposed to go there unsolicited.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m James Barnes.”

“I know,” Steve said, barely able to keep his voice levelled, “but we still have rules. This is a professional environment, Bucky, being semi-famous doesn’t—”

“Don’t call me Bucky,” Bucky lashed out, pointing a finger at Steve, “and I’m not _semi-famous_. Not in the ballet world, at least.” He scoffed. “Semi, my ass.”

“Someone finally calls him Bucky and he says don’t,” Natasha murmured next to him. Bucky glared at her, eyebrows raised as a sign to _shut up_.

Bucky looked back at Steve. “You have no fucking right to be mad.”

“You’re being very arrogant—”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about!” Bucky yelled, not caring that his voice echoed down the hall. He restrained himself from shoving Steve, but it took a lot of energy to do so.

Steve stared. Instead of the bewildered look Bucky expected, it was just pure anger in those eyes. “You don’t get to tell me what I’m allowed to feel.”

“Well, too fucking late,” Bucky snapped. After one final glare, he walked away, his schedule already crumpled in his hands.

Natasha walked after him, and once they were far away from Steve, she said, “You don’t care, huh?”

“I really don’t,” Bucky growled.

He _didn’t_.

Natasha was probably looking at him in disbelief, but she was kind enough not to say anything to point out how obvious it was that Bucky cared (he didn’t).

* * *

On Bucky’s actual first day at ABT, he noticed three things:

  * People knew who Bucky was, but looked too afraid to approach him. Good.
  * Steve Rogers had a lot of friends, to the point that it looked like he loved everyone and everyone loved him (except Bucky).
  * Not only was Steve everyone’s friend, but they all respected him and listened to him.



“He seems like a good guy,” Natasha said as they watched Steve laugh with some of their colleagues.

Bucky clenched his jaw, tugging on his shoes a little too harshly. Steve _was_ a good guy, Bucky _knew_ that. Back then, he would always wonder why people didn’t like Steve. It was probably because he was small or because he was always with Bucky, but Bucky had always believed Steve deserved to be appreciated.

But, right now, Bucky was simply infuriated with him. “He’s a dick.”

“No one else seems to think that,” Natasha admitted. “I talked to some of the girls. One of them has a crush on him. She even tried asking him out. Got rejected, actually. You would think she’s mad about that, but she’s still friends with him.”

“He’s gay.” Not that it mattered to Bucky. Those girls could be all over Steve if they liked. (Except it would probably mean that Bucky would hate those girls even more. Not that that detail mattered.)

“He’s openly bisexual, actually. But he’s not dating anyone.”

“ _I don’t care about his dating life,_ ” Bucky spat, in Russian, since some people looked like they were eavesdropping. Although knowing Steve wasn’t dating anyone made him feel strangely relieved. “ _Why are you telling me?_ ”

Natasha just snorted. “ _Just thought you’d want to know._ ”

“Well, I don’t,” he huffed, “So just shut up.” In his periphery, he could see Steve making his way towards them. Or, at least, walking towards somewhere near them. “ Блядь,” Bucky cursed under his breath.

Contrary to what Bucky expected, Steve just approached the girls that were near them, and not Bucky and Natasha. Of course. Why would Steve want to talk to Bucky?

“Well, if it isn’t James Barnes,” someone said behind Bucky, a voice he hadn’t heard in years.

A smile already on his face, he turned around, arms spread wide. “Ms. Hill!” he exclaimed, then pulled his former teacher into a hug.

“Call me Maria, I’m not your teacher anymore,” she laughed, patting his back. “I never thought I would see you dancing for the American Ballet.”

“Well, I had to come back some time,” Bucky lied, an easy smile on his face. “I didn’t think you’d leave SAB,” he admitted. It wasn’t like he thought about it much. Hill—Maria—had been in SAB since he started out there, so that was really all he knew of her. He figured she’d stay there forever.

“I didn’t think so either, but Director Fury offered me a job when he was scouting at SAB and I thought ‘why not?’” Maria looked between Bucky and Natasha. “You’re new too, right?” she asked Natasha.

Natasha nodded, but she didn’t really smile. “I was with James in the Bolshoi.”

Steve laughed behind Maria, and Bucky leaned over to see him smiling at the girls. Maria turned a little too, then settled her gaze back at Bucky. “Came back for Rogers? It’s impressive that you’re still friends, but I’m not really surprised. I remember—”

“No!” Bucky said, waving his hands in front of him. “No. No. We... we, uh, lost touch. We’re not really friends anymore. I didn’t know he was here.”

Natasha put a hand to her forehead and Bucky could feel the warmth spreading in his cheeks as Maria nodded slowly, almost disbelieving.

“I see,” Maria said. She clapped her hands once. “Well, I look forward to see you two in  _ La Sylphide _ .”

“Thanks,” Bucky said.

Then she left.

Bucky groaned. Natasha said nothing else, just patted his back to let him know she was there.

Training was smooth—Bucky was finally easing into his element—up until the point where they had to pair up. It was then that he began to believe that the universe was just laughing at him. Fuck the universe.

Bucky was  _ not  _ amused.

Rehearsing a  _ pas de deux _ meant two people touching. Which was fine, since Bucky didn’t mind carrying a random stranger. Hell, he’d been doing it all his life. 

But as one big cosmic joke, the ballet master wanted to pair him off with Steve.

“Traditionally, it would be between a man and a woman,” the ballet master was saying. She had pulled Bucky and Steve aside to explain things. “However, I was in the audience the night you two did  _ Swan Lake _ together, and I have to say, there is a chemistry between the two of you that most paired dancers are unable to emulate. I just think it’s a good idea to show them.”

The little stint Bucky pulled with Steve during his last night with SAB had created a small ripple in the ballet community. It  _ was  _ sort of impressive how they still managed to pull it off when Steve was never supposed to be more than an extra on-stage, and a lot of people, dancers and teachers alike, were impressed.

The ballet master  _ was  _ forgetting an important point, though.

“With all due respect, that happened when we were teenagers. Seven or eight years ago. We haven’t spoken to each other since,” Bucky said, slowly. He was trying not to bang his head on the wall. From the corner of his eye, he could feel Steve watching him.

The ballet master frowned a little. “Oh, that’s—"

“We can do it,” said Steve, completely out of the blue.

Bucky’s head whipped towards him. “Say again?”

Steve smiled. “We can do it,” he repeated.

“I  _ heard  _ you the first time, I’m just not sure—”

“That’s great!” the ballet master grinned at the two of them and went to explain to the other dancers.

Bucky wanted to punch this blond idiot. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Why the fuck would you agree to that?”

Steve shrugged like his decision was completely normal and not at all insane. He tilted his head towards the ballet master. “She looked heartbroken when you told her no.”

“Rogers, I don’t care if she looked  _ heartbroken _ . I am  _ not  _ dancing with you.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Relax, you can pretend I’m just some girl.”

“Some—” Bucky threw his hands up in the air. “What the fuck? That’s not even the point!” He would gladly dance with any guy that wasn’t Steve Rogers.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but he looked past Bucky, at the ballet master, then nodded with a charming smile before he took Bucky’s hand and dragged him to front and center of the room. “Don’t freak out,” he muttered, hands on Bucky’s waist.

“Get off me,” Bucky hissed, shoving Steve away. There was a moment of hurt that flashed across Steve’s face, but he composed himself just as quickly. Bucky glared at him. “The hell are we supposed to be dancing anyway.”

“Well, she said she liked our performance in  _ Swan Lake _ .”

“I am  _ not  _ dancing  _ Swan Lake _ with you. Ever.” Bucky glanced at the rest of the group who was looking at him expectantly, then back at Steve. “Fine.  _ Nutcracker _ . Adagio.” It was loud enough for the ballet master to hear and tell the pianist.

“Why would I know the female part to that?”

Bucky looked Steve up and down, his gaze falling to Steve’s feet. “You’re wearing pointes.” He looked back up, more confused than irritated now. “Why are you wearing pointes?”

It was obvious that Steve was fighting hard not to blush (but he still was because it wasn’t like there was an off-switch for that sort of thing). “Well, Carol talked to me about this earlier.”

Bucky squinted at him. “Who’s Carol?”

The look Steve gave Bucky was far more judgmental than Bucky felt was necessary. “The ballet master.”

“And you  _ agreed? _ ”

“Like I said, I didn’t want to disappoint her. Also, she didn’t exactly tell me the plan, she just told me to wear pointes if I have any—”

Bucky held a hand up. “Okay. Rogers. Shut up,” he said, because this was getting into dangerous territory. If Steve continued talking without hostility, Bucky would probably wind up listening, and then they’d be having a  _ conversation _ .

Steve glared at him. “Fuck you.”

“Rogers,” Bucky repeated, unapologetic. “Shut. Up.”

Luckily, before Steve could continue badgering Bucky about some nonsense civility, the pianist began to play, picking up a few measures before the pas de deux.

Bucky wondered how often Steve would practice female parts on pointe, since Steve seemed pretty confident in doing  _ The Nutcracker _ . When Bucky suggested it, he had just been fucking around Actually, he even thought— _ hoped— _ that Steve didn’t know it so they could put an end to... whatever this was.

Alas, Steve began to dance like he’d been playing the Sugar Plum Fairy all his life.

Their dance  _ together  _ wasn’t the best, though individually they did great. It was mostly due to the lack of loving chemistry between them. That chemistry was instead replaced by something hostile from both of them. Whatever that meant, Bucky wasn’t sure.

Although dancing with Steve like this brought back... well, too much unwanted memories and emotion. Bucky shook them away. He didn’t need this now, he didn’t  _ ever  _ need it.

It was about halfway through the dance that Bucky began to wonder if he could even  _ carry  _ Steve on his shoulder like he was supposed to. Steve certainly wasn’t light anymore.  _ He  _ could probably carry  _ Bucky _ .

As it turned out, Bucky  _ didn’t  _ need to figure out how they were going to do it. Steve stopped dancing right before that part, giving an uncomfortable smile to their quiet audience. “Sorry, we didn’t rehearse the next part and it would probably just be embarrassing.”

“You assuming I can’t carry you?” Bucky said under his breath when the group dissolved into a soft titter of laughter and clapping. He probably  _ couldn’t  _ carry Steve, but he also felt like saying something petty.

Steve cocked his head. “Could you?”

“Fuck you,” Bucky muttered and walked away. Steve Rogers was seriously grating on his nerves. Everything he did was irritating Bucky to no end.

“James,” Natasha said once they were on a short break. She handed him a bottle of water since he may or may not have been too busy glaring at Steve to do much else. “Why are you torturing yourself?”

“I’m not  _ torturing myself _ .” Bucky twisted open the bottle cap rather forcefully. “I am seething with rage.”

“That’s much better,” Natasha said with a shake of her head.

“How could anyone like him? Look how fucking annoying he is.” To make a point, Bucky motioned towards Steve’s general direction, where Steve was talking to some guy, a furrow in his brows.

Natasha looked at Steve for a brief moment then whacked Bucky’s head. “He is not even doing anything!”

“He’s being annoying.”

Natasha didn’t say any more, but it was clear from her expression that she was beginning to think that Bucky had gone insane. Bucky would give it a month, at most, before she staged some sort of intervention for him to get his emotions together.

But, for now, Bucky would stew in his anger without any interruption.


	11. Chapter 11

When Bucky left the studio after his audition for James Ruben in _La Sylphide_ , he was certain that he had the role. Which is why he was confused when he was called into the Artistic Director’s office a week later to discuss some, for lack of better word, _competition_.

Phil Coulson was wearing his best professional smile as he looked between Bucky and fucking _Steve Rogers_. “We’ve narrowed down the role for Ruben to you two. We’ll be giving it one month of rehearsals before we decide who will play the role.”

“What happens to Rogers if I get it?”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Who says you’re getting it?”

Bucky snorted. “You think you’ll get it?”

Steve shrugged and there was that annoying smile on his face again. “It’s fair game, but the scales _definitely_ tip my way.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Coulson said with the politeness of a man who _really_ didn’t want to be polite. “To answer Barnes’ _hypothetical_ question, if he were to get the role for Ruben, then you,” he pointed at Steve, “would be Gurn. And vice versa.”

“Sir, if I may,” Steve sat up straighter, “Barnes _just_ joined the company three weeks ago. I’ve been a dancer here for years.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been a principal dancer for longer than you have. You became principal last year; I’ve been at it since I was _twenty_ ,” Bucky said.

“I’m more comfortable working with these people,” Steve snapped.

Bucky rolled his eyes at that, leaning back into his chair. “Please. Whichever role I get, I’m _still_ going to work with the same people _you’re_ working with, so it doesn’t matter. What matters is I’ve got more experience.”

“You’re as arrogant as you were back then.”

“As I recall, you _liked_ that arrogance,” Bucky spat. That was, he could admit, a low blow, but it wasn’t like Steve was playing nice either.

Steve stared at him, speechless for a while. Then he gripped the arm rests tighter and said, “I liked you _in spite_ of it. And I’d like to emphasize the word _liked_ as in past tense because I don’t _anymore_ , and God knows why I ever did.”

“I didn’t even do anything wrong,” Bucky growled.

“Fuck you, you homophobic piece of shit.”

It was Bucky’s turn to be shocked. That was just a stab in the gut. “ _When_ did I ever imply I was homophobic?”

Coulson was rubbing a hand over his face. “If you two would please take this elsewhere, I have work to do and I am _not_ a counselor.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “That won’t be necessary,” he said tightly, letting his chair screech against the floor as he walked out, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Bucky stared after him before leaving the room, without sparing Coulson a glance. That argument was far from professional, but he wasn’t too worried about getting fired.

But when Bucky left, Steve was long gone.

* * *

“Am I homophobic?” Bucky asked Natasha after a long moment of staring into the distance. They were at Clint and Natasha’s apartment (with Clint still out with a bunch of friends), each of them holding a bottle of beer in one hand. He wasn’t drunk, per se, but he was tipsy enough to open up a little.

“I think you’re the only one who can answer that,” Natasha said.

“Well, I don’t think I am.” He’d never had an issue with gay people. “But do I give off the vibe or something?”

“You insist you’re not gay a lot of the time, even when people don’t really _ask_. Most people may take that to mean you aren’t okay with gay people in general.” Natasha frowned at him. “Why do you ask?”

Bucky sighed, leaning his head back. “Steve called me homophobic.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! It’s not like I called him disgusting or slapped him. He was the one who ran away from me all those years ago. I’m mad now, but not because of the fact that he kissed me. Just that he ghosted me. Is that homophobic?”

Natasha pursed her lips. “No. But the only way to find out why Steve thinks so is if you ask him.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“Why can’t you talk to him?”

“He hates me. I hate him. Does it look like a civil conversation is anywhere near possible?”

“You can talk to him or you can spend the rest of your life wondering. You only have two choices, really.”

“Yeah? And how do you suppose I’ll talk to him? Do I just go up to him and say ‘hey, you’re a dick, but I want to know why the fuck you think I’m homophobic?’. That doesn’t sound promising.”

Natasha stood up, walked over to her bag and pulled out a piece of paper and wrote something on it. “Well, don’t be rude about it.” She gave him the paper. “Maybe texting would help you think about your words first.”

Bucky blinked at the number scrawled on it. “Is this his number?” At Natasha’s nod, he waved the paper in confusion. “Why do you have his number?”

She shrugged.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “ _Why_ do you have his number?”

“Clint gave it to me.”

“You asked for it?”

“We talked about it. About you two.”

“What?!”

Natasha sighed. “Look. You and Rogers have your issues that even Clint doesn’t know about, but from what we’ve gathered, you really need to talk. Not only because you used to be best friends, but because there is so much that you _need_ to talk about before it eats you both alive.”

Bucky frowned but pocketed the number anyway. He had no idea what Natasha was talking about, so he wasn’t planning on using it. He stood up, grabbing his phone so he could leave. It had been a long day and he was sick of this.

But, just before he went, he asked, “All jokes aside, do you really believe I like Steve that way?”

“I think you’re too mad at him right now to know where your feelings really are.”

He took in a deep breath. Might as well. “I’ve never been romantically attracted to guys,” he admitted. That explained everything, didn’t it?

“You don’t even have _friends_ that are guys, it doesn’t really say much about you. You have me and you had Steve. You didn’t exactly give yourself a chance to emotionally bond with anyone else.”

Well, that hurt, but it’s true. Natasha did have a way of being blunt.

“Also, have you ever even been attracted to girls that way?” she added.

Bucky pretended to think about it for a moment, but he already knew the answer to that question the moment it was asked. “No. Not at all.”

“Okay, so, maybe you just _don’t_ feel attracted to anyone that way. Or maybe it’s just Steve. Would that be so wrong?”

He frowned. It felt _weird_ but not _wrong_. “No. I guess not.”

* * *

Bucky did not talk to Steve, much to Natasha’s exasperation. In his defense, it would be weird to randomly contact Steve when he wasn’t even supposed to have Steve’s number. Plus, after their fight in Coulson’s office, it was clear that Steve had no intention of ever speaking to Bucky.

Which was fine with Bucky, really. He didn’t need Steve.

That resolve lasted up until Steve positioned himself right in front of Bucky during the barre exercises.

“Fourth position, arm up, turn towards the bar,” Carol said, demonstrating effortlessly.

“What are you doing?” Bucky hissed as he began the movements.

Steve glanced back while he lowered into a plié, sniffed, then frowned. “What?”

“Why are you in front of me?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s a free country.”

Before Bucky could reply, Steve coughed. Then he coughed again, inhaled deeply, and leaned towards the woman in front of him. “Uh, hey, is that fur on your clothes?”

The woman paused her movements, turning her head. “Maybe? I have a cat.”

“O—oh,” Steve wheezed, “A _cat_.”

Dander was one of the things that triggered Steve’s asthma, Bucky remembered (among plenty of other things). Bucky reached out a hand to ask if Steve was okay, but his breathing became worse and in a few seconds, everyone had stopped what they were doing, all staring at Steve in concern.

The gasping breaths were a clear sign he was having an asthma attack, and no one in the room moved at all. They all stood frozen in shock, and it was evident to Bucky that they had either never seen Steve have an attack or they simply didn’t know what to do if he had one.

Steve was too far from his bag to reach it, so he was instead leaning on the mirror, trying to catch his breath.

Before it could get worse, Bucky ran and grabbed Steve’s bag from the other side of the room. The bag was similar to the one he had in SAB, so Bucky immediately checked the pocket where Steve used to put it in back when they were students.

Lo and behold, the inhaler was there. He suppressed a small smile as he handed the inhaler to Steve. Some things, at least, didn’t change.

Bucky unzipped the jacket Steve was (for some reason) wearing to give Steve more space. Then he held Steve’s hand, putting it on his chest so Steve could follow his breathing. “Steve. Deep breaths. Okay. Breathe with me.” After almost a year of living with Steve, he had learned how to handle these attacks to the best of his ability. He was no expert, but he could get Steve to calm down.

Steve took one last shuddering breath before his shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes. “I haven’t had an attack in public in a while.”

Bucky smiled at him for the first time. “Kinda obvious since no one knew what to do.”

Steve grimaced then waved at the rest of the dancers staring at them. “I’m alright, guys. Sorry about that.” He glanced down at his hand to where it was resting on Bucky’s chest. “Oh.”

Bucky’s hand was still wrapped around Steve’s wrist, and he felt a pang of longing. It had been a long time since he last touched Steve and _wow_ —he didn’t know he missed it this much.

“Thank you,” Steve said softly.

Bucky let go of his hand and quickly stood, dusting his pants for no reason. “Right. This doesn’t change a thing.”

Steve nodded, dazed. “Yeah...”

“I still hate you and you still hate me.”

“That’s about right.” Steve groaned as he stood up. “But, still, thanks.”

They stared at each other for a while before Bucky nodded awkwardly and backed away. Steve did the same, going in the opposite direction.

For the rest of rehearsal, neither of them even looked the other in the eye.

* * *

Two days after the attack, Bucky had had enough. The feeling of holding Steve brought back too much pain and he just needed one night not to think about it.

“We’re going out,” he announced as he barged into Natasha’s place. He blinked as he took in the sight before him. “Oh, hi, Rogers.”

Steve was on the couch with Clint and one of the dancers from ABT Bucky didn’t know the name to. The three of them were playing something on Clint’s PS4. The game was paused as Clint and Steve stared at Bucky in surprise. The other guy looked like he couldn’t care less.

“Tasha’s buying groceries. You’re welcome to wait if you want,” Clint said.

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying a biting remark. He nodded and sat down on the chair far away from the two of them.

Clint looked over at him and lifted the extra controller. “Wanna play?”

“No thanks. Not my thing.”

“This is Sam, by the way,” Clint patted the other guy’s shoulder, “don’t think you two have met. Sam, that’s Bucky.”

If Bucky didn’t know any better, he would say Sam was glaring at him. “I think we all know who that is.”

That was definitely apprehension in his voice. Bucky looked at Steve. “Really, Rogers? What do you tell your friends about me?”

“Enough to know you’re an ass,” Sam said.

Steve hid his face in his hands, mumbling something that Bucky couldn’t quite catch.

“Not that I care what you think,” Bucky told Sam with a withering smile, “but your friend over there is the one who didn’t want to talk to me after our little kiss. So, _fuck you_ , I’m not the asshole here just because I was confused.”

Steve took his hand off his face and turned around to face Bucky. His body was tense and he gripped the couch firmly. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to see me.”

“When the fuck did I say that?”

“When I came over to your house a week before you left!”

Bucky paused. “You didn’t come over,” he said, slowly.

“Yes, I did!”

“ _I_ went to _your_ house,” Bucky growled, “and no one answered the door. I stood outside for thirty minutes. And it was raining!”

“When did you go to my house?” Steve asked, a little softer this time like he was trying to figure something out.

“I don’t know. A few days after... the day. Three days later, maybe.”

Steve rubbed a hand over his face once. “I was in the hospital that time. With my mom. My mom was in the hospital and I was there with her for like three days. When she was discharged, I went over to yours immediately.”

Oh. So Steve wasn’t deliberately leaving Bucky out in the rain. Still, he didn’t answer Bucky’s calls. After another pause, Bucky asked, “Why do you know where my house is?”

“I asked Ms. Hill because I told her I...” Steve winced, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter how. Point is, you didn’t want to see me.”

“I didn’t even know you were there!”

“Well, your dad made it _abundantly_ clear how disgusted you were by me. Then I tried calling you and you didn’t pick up.”

“I broke my phone.” Wait. Did Steve just say Bucky’s _dad_ made it clear? “My dad? What the fuck did my dad do?”

Steve’s hands curled into a fist. “He told me you didn’t want to see me since I was a disgusting _fag_ , and I figured it was true since he wouldn’t even know about the kiss unless you fucking told him.”

No matter how upset Bucky was, he would bet his life that he did not tell _anyone_ in his family about what happened that night. He was going to have a fucking talk with his father. He stood up and shoved the chair back into the table. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Fine, run away again. That’s what you do best anyway.”

Bucky flipped him off. “You’re the one who ran away the first time!” he yelled, slamming the door behind him. It slammed so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if he broke something.

He took an Uber to his parents’ place. A phone call didn’t seem satisfying enough. Not if he currently wanted to punch his father and hopefully break his nose.

When he arrived, he rang the bell as much as he could, still fuming with anger.

Actually, he was well past anger at this point. He was fucking _livid_.

The door swung open and a very annoyed George Barnes said, “Jesus Christ, who—” he raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “James.”

“You are a fucking asshole,” Bucky said, shoving his way inside and pushing George towards the wall. “I hope you fucking rot in hell.”

“James, what—”

“How do you know Steve Rogers kissed me? Huh? I didn’t tell _anyone_. Least of all _you_.”

George, to his credit, didn’t deny what Bucky was talking about. “Your mother convinced me to go backstage and congratulate you for the performance to show that I care.”

That almost made Bucky laugh. It was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his life. “You don’t give a shit about me, why would you pretend otherwise?”

“See, I do care. It may not be obvious but—”

“Then _why_ would you drive away my _best friend_? That was not your call to make!” And it was one of the worst calls, at that. Bucky was a few words away from breaking George’s nose.

“I was protecting you,” George explained, and he genuinely looked like he believed whatever bullshit he was spouting.

Bucky laughed humorlessly. “Just so I know, _how_ did you think you were accomplishing that?”

“The reason I didn’t want the whole ballet thing was because I knew you were likely to be surrounded by a bunch of... queers. You don’t deserve to be friends with a fag—”

Bucky pinned George to the wall, barely controlling his rage. “You call Steve _anything_ but his name and I will fucking break every single bone in your body, _dad_.”

“Bucky?”

Bucky’s grip faltered and he turned to his right to see Becca and his mom looking at him in panic. At least, his mom looked scared; Becca just looked confused.

“Becca. Mom.” He frowned, letting go of George. “Wait. Becca? What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I told mom and dad about my... you know,” Becca patted her stomach.

George adjusted his clothes and stood straight. “You have no right to act this way in my house.”

Bucky closed his eyes. He felt bad for stealing the moment from Becca, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He was just going to apologize to her later instead. “Mom, did you know Steve came over? Or that he kissed me?”

Becca’s eyebrows shot up. “Steve did what?”

His mom guiltily looked away, and Bucky felt an even worse betrayal washing over him. He backed away towards the door. “You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

His mom hesitated. “James, listen—"

“Why didn’t you _tell me?!_ ”

“You and Steve were too close,” his mom said, as though there was such a thing as _too close_ , “It was fine if he was gay, but I didn’t want my son to be gay.”

Bucky took another shaky step backwards. It was one thing to hear it from his dad who he didn’t even love, but his mom? He always thought his mom would support him no matter what, and now he was supposed to just accept the fact that _both_ his parents conspired so that he would lose his best friend?

“What is wrong with you two?” he said, almost in a hushed whisper. He felt tears prickle at his eyes and he wiped them away, opening the door. “I lost the first friend I truly trusted because of your... your... _messed up_ beliefs. I didn’t need your goddamned noses poking in any of my business. If Steve wanted to talk to me, you should’ve let him!”

He stormed out of the house, feeling hurt and angry all over. The tears were already sliding down his cheeks as he fumbled his phone for an Uber.

“Bucky!” Becca called, rushing down the steps toward him. She hugged him briefly for comfort and said, “I’m so sorry they did that.”

Bucky shook his head, wiping a tear off his screen. “Wasn’t your fault, Becks.” He smiled at her, shakily. “You should go back inside.”

“Are you kidding me? After _that_ , I don’t even want to talk to them anymore. Come on, let’s get you home.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“I _know_ , but you could use someone to talk to. I’m here.”

Once Bucky booked the Uber, he checked his notifications and saw that Natasha had tried calling him ten times. “Nat’s worried, I think.” He sent her a brief text to let her know he was okay. She replied, letting him know that Steve was not okay and that she knew Bucky was lying.

“Becks,” Bucky said once they settled into the Uber, “how would I know if I was gay?”

Becca smiled at him sadly. “I really wish I could give an answer to that.”

“I miss Steve. I mean, I knew I missed him all these years, but he wasn’t around for me to really think about just how much I was missing. And now we’re working together and... I miss him. He’s there, but he’s not.”

“He’s in the same company as you now?”

“Yeah, and we hate each other. At first, I thought he was being an unreasonable asshole, but after finding out what dad did, I... I’m not so mad at him. Actually, I kind of stopped being too mad after he had an asthma attack.”

“Why did _that_ change things?”

“It reminded me of before, I guess. When we were okay. I just...” Bucky groaned, leaning his head against the window. “I miss touching him. Hugging him. Sleeping with him.” When his sister raised an eyebrow at that, his cheeks heated up. “No! Not like that! No. We just used to share a bed. _Literally_ sleeping. Nothing else.

“Fuck. I’m so confused. I’ve _never_ liked anyone romantically before. How the hell am I supposed to know what it feels like?”

Becca was quiet for a moment, and Bucky didn’t really expect her to say anything. He was as hopeless as one could get in terms of romance. “Do you want to kiss him again?” she asked.

 _Did_ he? He tried to think back to the time Steve kissed him, but the memory of the kiss itself was hazy. He could only remember feeling confused. It was _Steve_. He hadn’t expected it from him. “I... don’t know.”

“Well, I don’t have all the answers, but then again, this is sort of one of the reasons people go on first dates. To know if they _do_ want to kiss someone. Or spend their life with someone.”

“I don’t want Steve to spend his life with anyone,” Bucky said. The mere thought of it made him... jealous. “I want to fix things with him. I want me to be his first choice. Not anyone else.” If Steve went and got married to someone, Bucky might actually lose it. Bucky sighed. “That’s selfish, isn’t it?“

“Kinda sounds like you love the guy, pal,” the driver said from his seat, making Bucky jump in surprise.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

The driver shrugged. “From what you’re saying, it really sounds like you love him. I could be wrong though.”

Bucky looked at Becca who simply shrugged as if to say _he kinda has a point_.

“Love? I don’t love him. Isn’t that, like, too soon of a thing to decide?”

“I think you love him,” Becca admitted, “It’s only a matter of whether it’s platonic or romantic.”

Bucky hated to admit it, but she was right.

* * *

Once Bucky arrived at his apartment building, the last person he expected to see was Steve Rogers, and yet here he was standing in the elevator with Steve Rogers himself.

Steve had given Bucky and Becca an awkward ‘hey’, before turning to face the door, his foot tapping anxiously on the floor. Steve had obviously been crying (and drinking, if that stench of alcohol was anything to go by), but Bucky wasn’t one to judge. He was positive they both looked like they had been crying for a week.

Bucky’s curiosity took over and he asked, “Do you live here or something?” His voice sounded like shit.

“Uh, yeah, actually.” Steve motioned at the floor button he had pressed. It was the same floor as Bucky’s. “That’s me.”

Bucky leaned back. “Okay.” He should be more surprised, but he was too exhausted to waste any energy on more emotion.

Becca elbowed him, her eyes wide as she looked between Bucky and Steve in an effort to get Bucky to say something more. Bucky shook his head, pinching her arm. Becca rolled her eyes and slumped on the railing. _Ridiculous_ , she mouthed. He kicked her shin.

The elevator doors opened, and Steve went out first. He was clearly trying to get away as quickly as possible, but it didn’t seem necessary because the moment the three of them stepped out the elevator, Natasha, Clint, and Sam were all there, looking at them with unreadable expressions.

“Did you two get here together?” Sam asked.

“Uh, no,” Steve said, not looking at any of them.

“This is an intervention,” Clint said, and dragged Steve away from Bucky at the same time Natasha dragged Bucky towards his own apartment.

“What the fuck?” Bucky glanced back to where Clint and Sam were herding Steve into Steve’s own apartment. “Didn’t Steve come from your place?” he asked Nat.

“No. He went to a bar thirty minutes after you left.” Natasha motioned for Bucky to unlock the door. “We’ve decided you two need help.”

Bucky trudged into his apartment and sighed. “Relax, Nat, I got it figured out.”

“He doesn’t, but he’s getting there,” Becca said. She meant well but Bucky still shot her an unimpressed look.

Natasha shoved Bucky on the couch and stood over him, arms folded. “Tomorrow, when we get to rehearsals, you are going to _talk_ to Steve. You need to settle the misunderstandings between you two because there are quite a lot of those.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t move either. If he said yes, then they would expect him to do it tomorrow, and he wasn’t sure if he _could_. If he said no, then Natasha would just keep badgering him until he said yes. There was no way around it.

Natasha scowled at him. “What did Becca mean by you’re getting there?”

Bucky shrugged. “Well, we had a talk with the taxi driver.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Yep.” It sounded ridiculous, but it was true. He didn’t elaborate more.

Becca sat down on the couch too, looking at Natasha. “He said he didn’t want Steve to spend the rest of his life with anyone else. Other than him. After that, the driver said it sounded like he was in love with Steve, and I said he probably is. We’re just not sure if it’s platonic or romantic. Bucky didn’t say anything, but I’m sure he agrees.”

“I’m right here,” Bucky huffed.

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows, not looking at either of them. After a minute, she asked, “James, do you love me?”

Bucky blinked. He had no idea where this was going, but he didn’t like it. “You’re like my sister. ‘Course I do.”

“Really don’t know if I should be offended,” Becca muttered, but it was all in jest.

Natasha continued. “Are you jealous of Clint?”

“No. Why would I—” Bucky’s lips parted in realization. He swallowed. “Oh.”

Becca and Natasha both threw him knowing looks and he inhaled deeply. “Okay. So, I _might_ like—love is a bit too much—Steve that way. Doesn’t mean he feels the same.”

“Brother dear, I really want to throttle you right now,” Becca said, all sweet and everything.

Bucky sniffed. “It’s a genuine concern. He thinks I’m homophobic. He hates me.”

“You didn’t see him after you two fought,” Natasha said gently. “He was miserable.”

Bucky looked away. This was too much talking, thinking, and crying for one night. “Well, Steve’s always been a softie. The yelling probably just got to him.” Nothing about that statement was true, and Bucky knew it. He was pretty sure Natasha knew he knew it.

“Talk to him, James.”

“Yeah, Bucky.”

He settled with a simple, “I’ll think about it,” because they were not going to relent otherwise. “Now, can you guys leave? I really want to sleep.” Hell, he fucking _deserved_ to sleep.

Reluctantly, Natasha and Becca left him to it, with Becca promising to see him as soon as possible.

“Bye!” he called out to them, and then he was alone in the apartment.

This was getting ridiculous, Bucky thought to himself. A few days ago, he hated Steve with everything he had and now suddenly... what? He was _in love_ with him?

Then again, Bucky didn’t exactly stop loving Steve. He just... never realized it.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself as he went to take a shower.

* * *

Steve’s number was on Bucky’s nightstand. He had kept it there for reasons unbeknownst to him. Just as he was about to get into bed and finally _rest_ , he dialed the number.

“Fuck. What the fuck am I doing?” he said as his phone rang. Each vibration in his palm felt like he was inching closer and closer to what was probably _death_. Before he could drop the call, though, the ringing stopped and Bucky could hear the familiar sound of static that meant that someone had picked up.

“ _Hello?_ ” Steve said on the other end of the phone, his voice rough and nasally (Bucky would bet a thousand dollars that he was still crying). “ _Hello?_ ” Steve repeated.

Bucky breathed softly, trying to get the words to come out. They weren’t coming out. He couldn’t get his mouth to work.

“ _I’m really not in the mood for pranks right now,_ ” Steve said, ending the call.

Bucky blinked at his cellphone, then placed it back on the nightstand.

He could talk to Steve tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so delayed with replying to your comments, but I'll get to it sometime today or tomorrow! I'm really glad you guys are invested enough to leave long comments/discuss the fic though so thank you!!


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky did not talk to Steve the next day.

(It wasn’t entirely his fault. Steve wasn’t talking to him either. The intervention was an utter failure on both ends.)

Natasha kept shooting Bucky annoyed looks, and Sam did the same to Steve.

Both Bucky and Steve ignored their friends in favor of dancing. But after last night, Bucky’s gaze was drawn to Steve more than it had been previously. Steve was a beautiful dancer as ever, and Bucky felt a small hint of pride at the fact that people were finally acknowledging how good Steve really was.

Steve was playing Ruben today, and he did it rather flawlessly. Unlike the past few days when Bucky was irritated when people praised Steve for his performance, today Bucky felt _pleased_.

That’s when an idea came to him.

During their lunch break, Natasha walked after Bucky, frustrated. “Do you even remember anything from last night?”

“Relax. I have a plan.” If the plan was supposed to be an architectural plan for a building, all Bucky really had was a paper and pencil and probably one straight line drawn in the middle of said paper. At least it was something.

“Plan?”

Bucky waved her off. He wanted to do it without telling anyone. “I’m just going to talk to Coulson before we go eat.”

“Why?”

Bucky dabbed a hand towel over his forehead, smiling at Natasha. “I have... some ideas about the play.”

Natasha stared at him, trying to see past the smile in an attempt to figure out what he was getting at. Bucky wasn’t sure if there came a point where she somehow _guessed_ , but if she did, she said nothing about it.

“Okay, James,” she muttered, “I’ll see you later.”

Most of the time, Natasha trusted that Bucky knew what he was doing. If she didn’t, she simply waited until everything fell apart before she offered help. Bucky was grateful that she understood he didn’t _want_ help with his life if he thought he knew what he was doing.

Right now, he was at least sixty percent sure he knew what he was doing.

Coulson’s door was ajar when Bucky arrived. He gave it two soft knocks before pushing it open, waving as he came in.

“Sir, I just want to talk about the role for Ruben,” Bucky said, inviting himself to sit across from Coulson.

Coulson, who had been reading a folder before Bucky intruded, looked up at him, face blank. “I can’t be swayed by any bribery of any sort.”

“What?” Bucky frowned. He was rather offended that anyone would think he would bribe his way to get a part. “No. That’s not what I’m here for.”

There was a suspicious pause, a sigh, and then Coulson folded his arms on the desk and asked, “Alright, why are you here?”

* * *

There was a bathroom right next to Coulson’s, and Bucky hid by the doorway as Steve was called into the office.

The walls weren’t thin enough, so Bucky could overhear the conversation. _But_ , when the door opened a few minutes later and Steve and Coulson were stepping outside. Bucky could practically hear the smile in Steve’s voice.

“Thank you so much, sir,” Steve said. “I hope Barnes will take it well, though.” Bucky bit back a smile. Only Steve would be able to make a statement like that sound anywhere close to sincere.

“Oh, he’ll deal with it,” Coulson assured. Bucky could imagine him pushing Steve away from the office. “Go back to rehearsal, now.”

“It’s actually still my lunch break,” Steve chuckled. “Oh! Sam! You will _not_ believe it!” and his voice faded away after that.

Bucky counted to thirty before leaving the bathroom just to make sure Steve was really gone. The hallway was empty save for Coulson, who was raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

“You were eavesdropping?”

“I’m not going to embarrass myself by answering that question,” Bucky told him, leaning on the wall. “Thanks for doing that. He sounds really happy about it.”

“It’s his first lead role; I’m sure he is.” Coulson nodded at Bucky, and for a moment it felt like the end of the conversation. Then, he added, almost as an afterthought, “Although, for the record, Barnes, I was already planning on casting him for Ruben anyway. You giving the role up just moved the announcement a week earlier.”

Bucky tilted his head. “You were?”

“Other than the fact that I do really think he’s more suited for the role... well, Steve’s been here for years. He trains a lot. Maybe not as much as you, but more than most. And what he said, the last time you two were in my office, about him being comfortable working in this company? It’s true. Almost everyone loves him. He’s got a kind heart and he deserves good things happening to him.

“That he does.”

“ _But_ if you ever mention this to him, he might actually punch you.”

Bucky blinked. “Huh?”

Coulson laughed a little. “What you pulled back there sort of implies that you don’t think that Steve is capable of getting the lead without your help. If he finds out that you gave up the role for him, well...”

“Oh. Oh, _shit_.” Okay, so Bucky had _not_ thought this through. He ran a hand over his face. “I just wanted to do something nice for him. Make him happy.”

It took Bucky a few seconds to realize that this was not an appropriate conversation to have with a man who was sort of his boss. He blushed. “Sorry, I’m gonna—”

“I tend not to get myself involved with the business of others,” Coulson interrupted. He gave the hall a quick glance then leaned closer to Bucky, “but people talk. I know you and Rogers have had this feud since before you started here, and I know you and Rogers have some sort of history. I don’t know _what_ that history is and I don’t _care_ . But—and you need to understand that this is all I’m going to say and I never want to hear about it again—if you _really_ want to salvage any sort of relationship or friendship with him, all you need to do is talk to him.”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. “Right. Easier said than done.”

“Giving him some closure or explanation for whatever it is you two are not okay about could probably be the nicest thing you could do for him.” Coulson shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “It’s your call. Goodbye, Barnes.” And he walked back into his office, the door closing firmly behind him.

“Bye,” Bucky said softly, already hating himself a little more. He had been so _sure_ this was the right thing to do.

Maybe he _should’ve_ ran it by Natasha first.

* * *

“You are an idiot, James,” Natasha said, just like Bucky expected she would. They were lying on Bucky’s bed, side by side as they stared at the blank ceiling.

“I thought I was doing a nice thing. You should’ve heard him when he came out of Coulson’s office, Nat.” Bucky sat up. “He was really happy.”

Natasha didn’t even look at him before she rolled her eyes. “What part of _talk to him_ did you not understand? _Talk to him_ , I said, and what do you do? You go and imply he can’t do things without you. _Duratskiy_.”

Bucky chewed on the bottom of his lip. “It’s not like he’s going to find out.”

“Okay.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re going to tell him, aren’t you?”

“Do you truly believe I would do that?” She was right. Natasha was scary, but she was a good friend, loyal to a fault.

Bucky placed the pillow over his face and groaned.

* * *

Steve Rogers walked up to Bucky the first thing the next morning, his face screaming bloody murder. Pissed, was the word. Steve was pissed. Bucky had no idea why but was willing to guess he had something to do with it if Steve was approaching him _willingly_. For a moment, he thought it would be about what he did yesterday, but Steve finding out was close to impossible.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” Steve asked. Though his body language made it clear it wasn’t really a request.

Bucky glanced at Natasha, who just stared back at him, then he nodded slowly. “Uh, sure?”

Steve took him by the arm and hauled him into a janitor’s closet just outside the rehearsal room. The door closed with a bang and Steve kicked the wall, not even limping back when he hit it loud. “God fucking dammit, Bucky!”

Bucky took a step back, eyes wide. “What did I do?”

Steve glared at him. “Normally, I would punch you for doing that, but I also know you meant well. Why do you have to make things so fucking difficult?” He paused for a moment then kicked the door, this time. “Why can’t I just want to punch you, fucking hell!”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You do. You told Coulson to give me the role. Someone overheard it and told me that was you being some kind of presumptuous dick. Which is true, kind of.” Steve huffed and then the anger was back in full swing again. “Did you think I couldn’t have gotten the lead if you hadn’t backed out? You think I’m _that_ bad of a dancer?”

“No!” Bucky exclaimed, that’s not what he thought _at all._ In a panic to fix things, he found himself blurting out, “You’re beautiful.”

Steve paused mid-rant, lips parted. “What?”

Bucky could feel his cheeks burning as he continued. “You’re a beautiful dancer. I don’t think you’re bad. I never did. I just thought it would be nice, is all.”

Steve frowned. “I thought you were disgusted by me. Can you make up your mind?” but his voice lacked the hostility that he likely intended it to have.

“But I _don’t_. I never did.” Bucky straightened himself up to keep his voice from shaking too much. “That was my dad saying all these bullshit things to drive you away. I don’t blame you for believing it, but I just want you to know that I _never_ thought you were disgusting. That had never crossed my mind. I just wanted to clear things up with you. Steve, I’m not even mad that you kissed me. I’m mad that you left.”

“Well, I’ll admit to not answering my phone for the first couple of days,” Steve admitted, ears red. He ducked his head down, “but I was humiliated. I didn’t know if I could face you again.”

“I’d never do anything to intentionally humiliate you. I just... wanted to understand.” Bucky licked his lips then added, “I care about you, Steve. I want you to be happy.” _With me_ , he didn’t add, because it was way too soon for that kind of talk.

Steve closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple. “This is what I’m talking about.”

“Huh?”

Bucky let out an _oof_ as Steve lunged forward and hugged him, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder. There was a soft sniffle and Bucky awkwardly settled his hands on Steve’s broad back. It was like hugging Steve back when they were teens except it was so _far_ from it too.

“You make it impossible to stay mad at you,” Steve mumbled, his voice slightly muffled in the cloth of Bucky’s jacket, “I’m still a little miffed about the _La Sylphide_ thing, but I also know that getting the lead role means a lot to you, so this is probably one of the nicest gestures that you can come up with. For you, anyway. Anyone else would’ve gotten their asses kicked.”

Bucky smiled softly. “You could totally kick ass now.”

Steve let go of Bucky, though his hands were still on Bucky’s shoulders as if he didn’t want to lose physical contact. “I haven’t kicked much ass since puberty hit, honestly.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “When exactly did puberty hit?”

“Late!” Steve laughed. “I was eighteen, nineteen. It happened gradually and suddenly I was looking back at my small self, thinking ‘when did I ever look like that?’, you know?”

Bucky resisted the urge to stroke Steve’s face then and there. Damn Becca, Natasha, _and_ that Uber driver for putting such thoughts into Bucky’s head. Back then, he would’ve done it, no question, but it was weird now knowing there were... _feelings_ involved somewhere.

“Well,” Bucky said instead, “I can say I was pretty damn surprised to see you look like this.”

Steve laughed again. As it faded, he closed his eyes and leaned into Bucky. “I missed this.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, his voice hoarse.

“Me. You. Us.” Steve shook his head with a wry chuckle. “Not that there was an us. Just our friendship. My best friend. I missed my best friend. Still do.”

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. He was sure his hands were shaking too. “I miss my best friend too,” he murmured, voice so quiet he wasn’t even sure if Steve heard it.

Steve looked up at him, his eyes boring straight into Bucky’s. “You did?”

“I didn’t think about you. When I was in Russia, I didn’t. I _couldn’t_.” Bucky exhaled, looking away. “Then I see you again over seven years later and it’s like... it’s like I _had_ been missing you for all those years.” Bucky scoffed to himself. “Who am I kidding? I _was_ missing you all those years. Bolshoi is doing _Swan Lake_ this year, you know? And I was gonna be in it, but when Natasha showed it to me all I could think was ‘g _od_ , I can’t do this’.”

“I was so mad and hurt, Buck,” Steve said, clutching Bucky’s jacket tightly, “that you’d think that about me. I don’t care that you don’t like me that way. Well,” Steve furrowed his brows, “okay, I _care_ , but I can live with it. What I _couldn’t_ live with is you hating me.”

One of Bucky’s hands found its way to Steve’s cheek. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, even when I thought I did. And about that whole not liking you that way thing...” he leaned in closer, feeling Steve’s heavy breathing against his cheek. “There might be a change of—”

“Oy, Rogers!” came Sam Wilson’s voice from the other side of the door, accompanied by loud knocks. Steve and Bucky jerk away from each other like they’d been jolted with electricity. Sam was relentless. “Danvers has been looking for you for twenty minutes!”

Steve, flushed red, fixed his clothes, avoiding Bucky’s gaze. “We should, uh, probably—”

“Uh. Yeah. Right.” Bucky didn’t need to look in a mirror to know he was likely just as red, if not worse, as Steve.

“Rogers!” Sam yelled again just as Steve opened the door. His stance faltered when he saw Bucky. “Barnes? What—” Looking between the two of them, his eyebrows raised. And Bucky knew what it looked like. They both looked like disheveled messes, flustered and sweating (the closet had been hot and Bucky was in a _jacket_ ). Sam cocked his head. “I see.”

“No!” Steve was first to exclaim. “No. We just talked.”

“Thought you were gonna punch him?” Sam asked, jutting his chin towards Bucky.

Bucky scowled. 

“He meant well,” Steve mumbled, still not looking at Bucky. Steve’s avoidance made Bucky’s heart sink.

Bucky gestured to the rehearsal room. “I’m just gonna go...”

Steve nodded jerkily.

When Bucky finally managed to distance himself enough from Steve, it was easier to breathe. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and pushed open the door to the rehearsal room. Natasha walked up to him the moment he did.

“We’ll talk at lunch,” Bucky muttered. All he wanted to do now was dance.

* * *

“So you almost kissed.”

“It’s a good thing we didn’t,” Bucky said, shoving rice into his mouth angrily.

Natasha’s lips tightened. “Did you realize you don’t want to kiss him or something?”

“No. Not that.” Bucky didn’t think, at this point, it would _ever_ be that. “I just realized he’s better off without that. He wouldn’t even look at me after. He probably didn’t know how to say he didn’t feel that way anymore.”

Natasha stabbed her spoon into her rice. “Alright, Barnes, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Back then, Steve liked me because... well, the choices were me or Clint and I guess I was closer to him. Now... Steve’s got so many choices. He’s not gonna choose me if—"

“Quit fishing for compliments and just ask him out, James.”

“I’m not—”

“You know, if he rejects you, it doesn’t change anything. You can go back to being friends.”

Bucky frowned. “It’s not that easy.”

“Nothing is. For once in your life,” she leaned forward, “take a risk.” She sat back in her chair. “Doing something when you’re not sure what the outcome will be... you need that once in a while. The uncertainty is half the fun.”

“S _omething_ would be like shifting to hip hop or trying to go for an art career. Something is not getting rejected by the man I love.” Bucky paused, eyes going wide. “Not that I _love_ him. Just that it’s—”

“If you try, there’s a chance you get him. If you don’t, then it’s almost certain he’ll end up with someone else.”

That alone was reason enough for Bucky to shut up and decide on doing that _something risky_ thing that Natasha was blabbing about.

“Okay,” he finally relented, “but I’m going to need help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you guys want to discuss or just be friends, you can dm me or send an ask on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wintersabbath)!


	13. Chapter 13

There were no rehearsals the next day, so Bucky spent the whole day preparing and getting ready, and at 5:30 pm, he set his plan into action. This time, he actually _had_ a plan, and it wasn’t some underdeveloped idea he came up with on the spot. This was something he ran by Natasha yesterday _and_ this morning.

His phone vibrated on the bed while he zipped up his trousers. Bucky saw Natasha’s text flashing on it. _915_ it said and Bucky smiled, texting her a _thanks_.

The flowers he bought earlier today were resting on his coffee table, carefully laid down to make sure there wouldn’t be any creases once he picked them up. Bucky pulled on his coat, giving his reflection a once over before taking a picture and sending it to Natasha.

_Good?_ he texted.

_You look great_ , she replied. _Good luck._

It was followed by a selfie of her and Clint giving him a thumbs up. Bucky briefly wondered if Clint spilled something to Steve, but realized he probably didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Bucky wasn’t too fond of Clint, but he knew Clint wasn’t _really_ an ass, either.

Bucky took a deep breath, smoothing his hair one last time, before picking up the flowers and the food he had cooked (he had called Becca for help earlier). It would be more romantic if they ate at his place, really, since he could use proper plates and maybe light some candles. But Natasha had vetoed that, saying that it would be better if Steve was given a choice as to whether or not he would let Bucky in (both physically and metaphorically).

His hands were sweaty as Bucky left his apartment, tucking his key into the pocket of his trousers. He double checked to make sure his fly was not open (the last thing he needed was that), and then trudged over to apartment 915, which was in the next hall to his.

Before he could talk himself into backing out, Bucky gave the door three knocks and held his breath.

When it opened, a woman who was about fifty frowned at him.

“Uh, you’re not Steve,” Bucky said, blinking.

“Who are you?” the woman asked.

Bucky held up a hand and then took his phone out. There was another message from Natasha.

_916!!! It’s 916!!! Clint got it wrong_.

Bucky scowled, mentally cursing her, then gave the lady a polite smile. “Sorry, wrong door.”

Without another word, the woman slammed the door in his face which was just plain _rude_ , but okay. He wasn’t here to play nice with strangers anyway. Bucky walked over to the door right next to it and he could hear the faint yet unmistakable sound of Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp minor being played on a keyboard behind the door.

Once Bucky knocked, the music stopped.

The door opened to Steve looking like a complete mess.

“Since when did you play the piano?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t.” Steve glanced back into his apartment then seemed to realize what that sounded like. “Okay, I do. But I only know three pieces.”

“Really?”

“Nocturne in C-sharp minor, Mozart’s Piano Concerto 21 Adante and...” he cleared his throat, “Canon in D, I guess.”

Bucky smiled a little. “That’s nice. I can’t even play Heart and Soul.”

“I can play the shitty version of that,” Steve shrugged. He pursed his lips, looking at Bucky’s suit, the food, and then the flowers. “What are you doing here?”

Bucky held the flowers out awkwardly. “You can tell me to fuck off, and I swear I will and we can just pretend this never happened, but,” he took a deep breath, “on the off-chance that your feelings haven’t changed in the last decade, as unlikely as that is, I want you to know that I want to give us a chance.”

Steve nodded slowly, but it wasn’t a yes, by any means. It was more like he had a difficult time understanding what Bucky was saying. “By chance you mean...?”

“You and me. Dating. Kissing. You know... the whole romance thing.” Bucky thrust the flowers towards Steve again, looking sheepishly at him. “If you want?”

“Is this a joke?” Steve asked.

“It’s not a—” Bucky huffed in frustration. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“Wha—”

Bucky threw the flowers to the ground and grabbed the back of Steve’s neck with his free hand, pulling him forward and going for that kiss that should’ve happened yesterday—maybe even seven or eight years ago if Bucky hadn’t been confused about himself.

Kissing Steve now, as shocked as Steve was beneath Bucky’s fingertips, felt _right_. There was no doubt in Bucky’s mind that _this_ was what he wanted. All those _maybes_ from before were now _definitelys_ , and this was everything Bucky could ever need... yet there was something wrong.

He frowned into the kiss, then pulled away ever so slightly. “You’re not kissing me back,” he murmured, a little breathless.

Steve stared at him, eyes wide. His hair looked even messier than before. “You’re being serious.”

Bucky let go of Steve and threw his hands up. “ _Obviously_ I’m being— _mmph_ ” Because just like that, Steve was pressing his lips to Bucky’s and Bucky eagerly kissed him back. The only thing that kept Bucky from pushing Steve up against the wall was the food that was almost slipping from his hands.

They refused to let go until they both had to breathe lest they die from suffocation (that, Bucky thought as they pulled apart panting, would not be a horrible way to die).

“You were serious,” Steve said again. There was a small smile forming on his face as he exhaled, shuddering. “Wow.”

Bucky grinned, licking his lips. His eyes fell back to the flowers now on the floor and he shook his head. “I spent all afternoon making sure those didn’t get crumpled and then I end up throwing them to the floor just like that.” He glanced back to Steve, his heart still beating rather delightfully. “Worth it, though.”

Steve just smiled even wider and nodded to himself.

“Yesterday in the closet,” he began, “I didn’t know if... I thought it was wishful thinking, on my part. I mean.” Steve ran a hand through his tousled hair, his cheeks a beautiful red. “Seven years ago, when we were backstage I thought we both felt the moment and... it was definitely wishful thinking on my part. So I figured yesterday was too. And I learned from past mistakes and knew better than to try acting on it.”

“Yesterday was... I wanted to. I would’ve, maybe, if Wilson hadn’t barged in.”

Steve bent down to pick the bouquet, running his hands over it. He squinted at it closely, putting it under his nose and trying to sniff them. “Buck, are these fake?”

“You’re allergic to flowers,” Bucky said. No matter how romantic traditional flowers were, triggering Steve’s allergies wasn’t an option.

Steve chuckled. “Why were you so worried about crumpling then?”

“Fake or not I still wanted them to look presentable!” Bucky gestured at the messed up bouquet. “Now the arrangement’s all wrong.”

“I can’t believe you remember,” Steve said softly.

“That you’re allergic to flowers? Not hard to remember. Mostly because I keep track of things you’re _not_ allergic to instead of what you _are_ allergic too. It’s a much shorter list.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, genius, but this isn’t the end of this. You have a lot of explaining to do. This, as you can probably tell by, well,” he gestured to himself, “is a little surprising.” He paused and waved his hand in the air. “Scratch that, this is a _big_ surprising.”

“Please don’t say that again,” Bucky said, flatly enough that it was obvious he was joking, “and yes I’ll explain. But first! Dinner.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose, and he looked more surprised now than he did when Bucky kissed him. “You can’t cook.”

“You don’t know that.”

Steve crossed his arms, though it was a bit awkward considering the bouquet he was carrying. “You’re telling me you can cook.”

“I’m telling you I learned.”

“When?”

“That’s not something I am required to answer,” Bucky huffed, holding up the food. “Shall we?”

Steve eyed the dinner then smirked. “You just learned today didn’t you?”

“Rogers, if you don’t let me in, I am going back to my apartment and I’m eating this food by myself.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Bucky groused a little then finally sighed. There was a stupid dopey smile on his face, he was sure of it. “Fine, I wouldn’t. But can we please go in now?”

“Okay, okay, c’mon in,” Steve laughed, pushing the door open wider.

Bucky followed him into the apartment. The size and basic set-up was basically the same as Bucky’s own apartment, but there were a lot more personal items in the apartment than Bucky’s could ever hope to have. Not only did Bucky just recently move, he wasn’t too much of a sentimental type either. There wasn’t much stuff for him to be laying around.

Steve, on the other hand, seemed to have a lot of stuff. All of them were organized and neat but they were still a lot.

“Why didn’t you just ask me on a date?” Steve asked while he put down the flowers. “You know, like normal people do.”

“That’s what Nat said. But I told her I wanted to make it... I wanted to put some effort in, you know? Buying the flowers, cooking the food, getting dressed. It felt more proper than just going up to you and saying ‘hey, wanna go out?’ Plus, you probably wouldn’t have believed me.”

Steve hummed. “Yeah. I would’ve slapped you, I think.”

“Gee, thanks,” Bucky said. Steve wasn’t exactly wrong, though. If Bucky had just nonchalantly asked, it was more likely to be interpreted as some kind of sick joke. Not that Bucky was the kind of person who would pull something like that.

Steve walked over to the kitchen where the dining table was, looking back and grinning at Bucky. “Alright, let’s put your cooking skills to the test.”

* * *

“I’m impressed,” Steve said around the pasta, “it’s actually good.”

Bucky smiled smugly. “Told you I can cook.”

“Okay, Gordon Ramsay, you’ve proved your point.” Steve swallowed the food in his mouth then pointed his fork at Bucky. “Now, I want an explanation.”

“Do you want the recipe or something?” Bucky asked, even though he knew full well what Steve was asking for. He added, cheekily, “I’ll have to ask Becca.”

“Buck,” Steve said, seriously.

“Sorry.” Bucky looked down at his plate, puffing his cheeks a little in thought. “Uh. Well, I went to my parents’ after... what happened at Clint and Nat’s. Apparently my dad saw you kiss me backstage so he, I guess, made it a point to drive you away.”

“It worked,” Steve said bitterly. “I should’ve known better than to believe him.”

“It was his fault, okay?” Bucky said. He didn’t need Steve blaming himself over the shitty things his dad did. “ _His_. Not yours.”

Steve just shrugged. Bucky continued.

“So, anyway, after that, I found out my mom had a hand in it too.”

“What?!”

“It’s...” Bucky pursed his lips, realizing something, “You know, I sort of get why it took me so long to figure out I’m gay. My parents aren’t really... well, my dad was more open about it, but neither of them want me to be gay. I guess that thinking rubbed off on me somehow? Subconsciously?”

Steve glared at the table as if glaring at it would make it crack. “It’s not a choice.”

Bucky nodded. “I realize that now. It took an Uber driver and a shitty intervention from Nat and Becks, but I realize it now.”

“A what?”

“Yep.”

“What did the driver say?”

Bucky certainly wasn’t going to answer that lest he wanted to freak Steve out. He shrugged in lieu of responding, then stuffed his mouth with more pasta.

“Have you dated anyone since?” Steve asked.

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, not really in confusion but more like _why would that ever cross Steve’s mind?_ “Do I look like the dating type to you?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “Have you slept with anyone?”

Bucky also had no interest in responding to that. He ducked his head down, hoping Steve wouldn’t see any possible redness in his cheeks. “Is this the sort of thing people talk about on a first date?”

“Well, no. Doesn’t really matter, though.” Steve stared at Bucky a little more intently. He’d obviously figured it out already, but didn’t seem to be bothered. “Would it put you off if I said _I’ve_ slept with someone else?”

“Are you still sleeping with them?”

Steve rolled his eyes.

Bucky smiled. “Then no. I don’t care.” Okay, maybe he cared a little bit—mostly because it could’ve been _him_ but instead he was moping in Russia. He couldn’t help but ask: “Was it... meaningful?”

Steve snorted, shaking his head. “As far as first times go, it was far from meaningful. Given that I was drunk and really sad. It was exactly four years after I last saw you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Pretty sure she didn’t even know I was a virgin.”

“You’re not supposed to put out on the first date, right?”

The tips of Steve’s ears turned slightly red. He bit his lip for a moment then shook his head with closed eyes and a small smile. “Not now, Buck.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Bucky grinned and felt the need to add: “Though we _have_ slept in the same bed.”

He was met with a kick under the table followed by a beautiful laugh.

* * *

After dinner, Bucky helped Steve clean up and then plugged his phone into the speakers Steve had in the apartment.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, drying his hands with a towel while Bucky scrolled through his Spotify.

Bucky looked up. “Got your pointes?”

“Why do you like seeing me on pointe so much?”

“You dance like an angel when you wear them.”

Steve smirked. “I don’t dance like an angel otherwise?”

“Stop fishing for compliments.” Bucky flapped his hand in the air. “You know what I mean.” Steve danced beautifully no matter what.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “We are _not_ dancing in here. There’s hardly any space for two people.”

Bucky motioned at the rug. It wasn’t a _big_ space, but it wasn’t ridiculously small either. “You can’t tell me you have never practiced in here.”

“I don’t practice with anyone else.”

“Welcome to my world. _But_ that changes now.”

“Buck—”

“Alright. Alright. No ballet. It doesn’t even have to be classical!” Bucky glanced down at the very few non-classical music he had on his phone. He scrolled through Clapton, then clicked on _Wonderful Tonight_. As the music began, he put his phone down and grabbed Steve by the arm. “Come on!”

Steve laughed, tossing the hand towel over his shoulder, not caring where it landed. “This is ridiculous,” he said softly.

Bucky put his hands on Steve’s waist, swaying a little. “Something to cross off the bucket list,” he said.

Steve chuckled and rested his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “You keep a bucket list?”

“Don’t have to.” He locked eyes with Steve. “I’ve got everything I could ever want.”

Steve blushed, leaning in closer to Bucky so they were almost hugging. “My, Mr. Barnes, where have you been hiding all this charm?”

Bucky pulled away a little so he could make space to kiss Steve. With Steve’s mouth on his and Clapton softly playing in the background, Bucky wondered how he’d ever doubted this.

_I love you_ , he wanted to say, yet didn’t. He hoped, nonetheless, that Steve could feel it through the way Bucky held him or the way he drew him close.


	14. Chapter 14

Bucky didn’t mean to go through the sketchbook. It wasn’t his fault it was laying around the living room. He had woken up before Steve after a night of sleeping ( _just_ sleeping) in Steve’s bed. He went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and found the sketchbook on the table, lying open. 

Steve wasn’t deliberately hiding it, so how was Bucky supposed to know it was some big secret?

It wasn’t like anyone could just walk past a drawing of _themselves_ and then _not_ be tempted to look through the sketchbook even more. Plus, it had been awhile since Bucky had last seen one of Steve’s drawings.

The drawing that caught Bucky’s eye was one of him now. Steve had dated it today. The image didn’t seem to come from a particular day or anything, just a portrait of Bucky that likely came from Steve’s own imagination. It was incredibly realistic.

Steve was good before but now... _wow_.

Bucky flipped to the next page, but it was empty, so he flipped backwards instead. The drawing before was that of a young Bucky Barnes with short hair. On the bottom right, Steve had dated it seven years ago.

Meaning, Steve hadn’t touched his sketchbook in seven years and picked it up again yesterday just to... draw Bucky.

The more Bucky flipped through the thing, he realized it was all just drawings of _him_. Of him dancing. Sleeping. Laughing. There was nothing but _Bucky_.

“Morning, Buck, do you—what are you doing?!” Steve screeched, his eyes going from sleepy to panic in mere seconds. He tackled Bucky to the ground, snatching the sketchbook away.

“Okay, ow,” Bucky grunted, lying on his back. “Sorry. I got curious. You left it open and I saw my face.”

“That was private,” Steve mumbled, holding himself up on one hand. Their faces were so close, Bucky wanted to kiss him again. And he did. Because that was something he was allowed to do now.

“How come I never noticed you drawing me?” Bucky asked.

“Shut up,” Steve groaned, rolling over so he was lying right beside Bucky. “You were never supposed to see that.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Fuck off.”

“It’s nice. I’m a little surprised you didn’t burn it, to be honest.”

Steve’s face scrunched up. He rolled his head to the right, facing Bucky. “Why would I do that?”

“You know,” Bucky waved his hand in the air then flopped it back down on his stomach. “You hated me. Why would you want to keep it around?”

“Doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving you,” Steve said, his eyes closed.

Bucky’s body tensed and his heart quickened. He was careful not to look at Steve; he was afraid that if he did, he would shake him and demand him to stop lying. Instead, Bucky wrapped a hand around Steve’s fist, and, hesitantly, he asked: “Do you mean that?”

Steve laughed, both pained and humored. “There’s no reason for me to lie.” He fell silent for seven seconds (Bucky counted it). “Before, I was a teenager who was unsure of just about everything he was doing. The only thing I was sure of was you. Now, I’m an adult, and I’m _still_ unsure of everything I’m doing. The only thing I _am_ sure of is that I love you. Painful and heart-breaking as it was then, I loved you. Exciting and maddening as it is now, I love you.”

He shifted his entire body so he was facing Bucky entirely. Bucky moved to mirror Steve, and Steve reached out a hand to stroke his face. Bucky held Steve’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing his fingers gently.

Steve smiled. “I love you, Bucky Barnes, even if it kills me. I would do anything for you, but the one thing I can’t do is stop loving you.” He paused, then, almost as an afterthought, added: “Even if you asked me to.”

Bucky held Steve’s hand to his cheek and hoped the tears glistening his eyes wouldn’t fall. “I would never ask you to stop,” he said in a whisper, “maybe it’s selfish, but I never will. I would never want to.”

“That’s okay.”

“Did you love me even when you thought I hated you?” Bucky asked because he had to know.

“Yes, but I hated myself for it,” Steve said. “But I don’t hate myself now.”

Bucky nodded, staring in awe. Though his mind knew, logically, what to say next, he was still shocked that any of this was really happening to him. There were men better than him that would never get to experience something as wonderful as Steve, and here Bucky was, given the unconditional love of a man worthy of so much more.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Steve said after a moment of silence. Bucky had probably looked like he was scrambling to find the appropriate words (he was not, really, since the words were already on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said). “I know it’s all new to you,” Steve continued, “and I can wait. If you never say it back, that’s okay too.”

The last statement snapped Bucky out of his trance, and he pushed Steve back to the floor, climbing on top of him. “Steve, you idiot,” he said, cupping Steve’s face in his hands and kissing him with all the love he had. He kissed the side of Steve’s lip, not letting go of his face. “ _Of course_ I love you too. I just thought you would think it was too early. We’re different people now. You might’ve loved me then, but I couldn’t be sure if you still do now.”

“You’re right. We did change. We went from being hormonal teens to trying adults. But you’re still Bucky and I’m still Steve, and our souls are still the same.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked up. “I don’t believe in having souls.”

“Well, I do, and you’re just gonna have to deal with that.”

“So are we soulmates?”

Steve shook his head. “Not at all.”

“You don’t believe we’re soulmates?”

“I don’t believe in soulmates, period.”

“Really?” Bucky had always figured Steve would be the romantic, ‘some people are destined to be together’ sort of person. Bucky was not one to believe in that kind of thing but Steve had always struck him as someone who did. “What do you believe in then?”

“I believe,” Steve held both of Bucky’s hands in his, “that I chose to love you. I chose to love you even when loving you was the worst choice I could make. I don’t love you because the universe said I have to; I love you because I want to.”

Bucky stared at him for a moment then smiled. “You’ve certainly thought this through.”

Steve just shrugged—a bit sheepish. “I’ve had seven years to think about it.”

“Well, I’ve had a day or two, so I don’t have any fancy monologues or pretty words. But for what it’s worth, I love you too.”

* * *

Apparently, Steve had a motorcycle.

Bucky didn’t really own any vehicles since he was (not really) satisfied with public transportation, and if he was desperate enough, he could always call Natasha. So, naturally, when he was getting ready for rehearsals, Steve offered a ride. On his motorcycle. Bucky was not amused.

“It’s not scary, I promise,” Steve said, mirth lacing his tone. Bucky wanted to swing his bag upside his head for laughing.

“We can just walk together,” Bucky suggested, fidgeting with the straps of his bag.

“Buck, it’s a motorcycle, not the Formula Rosa. It’s just a bicycle but faster.”

“I’ve never ridden a bicycle,” Bucky said. No one in his family bothered to encourage him to learn and he didn’t really think it was important.

Steve blinked, his line of reasoning taken down a notch. “Well. Still. It’s not that bad.”

“People get scraped knees on bicycles.”

“Only if they’re learning! Or maybe if they’re on rough terrain.” Steve huffed, pointing out the window. “It’s a flat street. I’m not taking you up Mount Everest.”

“I like my legs intact.”

“Are you saying my legs aren’t?” Steve rolled his eyes, taking a few steps forward. He thrusted his spare motorcycle helmet to Bucky. “Just try it once. Please?”

Bucky frowned. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Because! I don’t drive a car. You don’t drive a car. Couples drive each other around. Or, sometimes, one of them drives the other around. I wanna drive you around and I can’t do that if you refuse to sit on my bike.” Steve paused, his grip on the helmet tightening. His eyes went wide with that soulful innocence that no one could ever dream of saying no to. “But if you really think it’s a bad idea…”

Bucky groaned, snatching the helmet from Steve. “I swear those eyes of yours can convince the Pope to become a criminal.”

“So, you’ll do it?” Steve asked, straightening up with a grin.

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbled, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Fonzie.”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Steve chuckled, walking out the apartment with Bucky. “You’re not. You’re not funny.”

Bucky nudged him lightly with the helmet. “You’re laughing anyway.”

On the elevator, Steve’s hand somehow made its way around Bucky’s waist. It should be awkward, but it wasn’t. In fact, it was the most comfortable Bucky had felt in a while.

“Wow,” Bucky said after a whistle, staring at Steve’s motorcycle. Bucky didn’t really know much about motorcycles but this one looked like it cost a fortune. “How rich are you?”

“I’m not rich,” Steve said, “It was a gift from an... acquaintance, I guess?” he explained, as if _that_ made anything clearer.

Bucky shot him a disbelieving look. “Who are you friends with? The Queen of England?”

“Just,” Steve shrugged, mumbling something under his breath. He shook his head, putting on his helmet. “Wear your helmet.”

“Woah,” Bucky put a hand on Steve’s wrist, “I wanna know.”

Steve sighed. “You’ll freak out.”

“I swear I won’t.”

There was a small pause, and then: “Tony Stark.”

What.

“ _Tony Stark?!_ ” Bucky yelled, freaking out. “How are you friends with _Tony Stark?!_ ”

Though Steve’s face wasn’t visible through the helmet, Bucky could imagine the look of exasperation painted on it. “You said you wouldn’t freak out.”

Bucky nodded, clearing his throat, and then, in a more levelled voice, he said: “How are you friends with Tony Stark?”

“We’re not _friends_.”

Bucky motioned at the bike with great exaggeration.

Steve held up a placating hand which did nothing to calm Bucky down. “Okay, I _had_ a motorcycle before that was much cheaper. Like, _much_ cheaper. But... erm, I had it parked by this restaurant, and Stark was around so there were some paps. One of them knocked over my bike. I don’t really know how, to be honest, since one moment I’m eating lunch and the next, I hear a loud crash outside and my bike’s on the floor.”

Bucky nodded.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, so I go over to upright my bike, but it’s pretty banged up. Stark kind of swerves through the paps, goes over to me and asks if it’s mine. When I say yeah, he asks me for my full name and where I live.”

“You just gave away your address like that?”

“It’s Tony Stark,” Steve said, flatly. “He’s _rich_. I doubt he would want to rob me.”

“Still.”

Steve gave him a light smack on the shoulder, probably rolling his eyes behind the visor. “ _Point is_ , I never saw him again after that. The only hint of him was this thing—” he gave the bike a pat, “—delivered to me by some guy named Happy.”

Bucky blinked at the bike, then shook his head with a small smile. “Only you, Steve. Only you.”

“Just shut up and hop on.”

Bucky grunted, tugging the helmet on. Steve sat first, and Bucky hesitantly sat behind him, frowning. The bike vibrated in places Bucky didn’t want to think about. He wrapped his arms around Steve, hanging on for dear life as Steve revved the engine and sped off, zooming through the streets like they were in a race.

Bucky couldn’t even bring it in himself to scream when they turned left into the next street.

As they paused at the stoplight, Steve tilted his head to the back by the slightest bit. “You’re freaking out.”

“You drive like a madman!” Bucky explained, gripping Steve’s waist. He could feel the bastard’s smirk directed towards him.

“I drive like the average guy.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re trying to race every single motorcycle rider in the state of New York.”

In response, Steve drove even faster.

When they arrived, Bucky stumbled off the back and leaned against a pole. He pulled the helmet off, tossing it towards Steve, who caught it with ease. Bucky held his middle finger up. “Are you _crazy?_ ”

Steve grinned at him, shaking his head as if it would somehow fix his flattened hair. “Possibly.” He took their bags from the rack and locked his bike. Then, in an utter pretense of kindness, he walked over and kissed Bucky on the cheek. “Didn’t you have fun though?”

Aside from the near death experience? Bucky shrugged. “It was a _little_ exhilarating.” The moment the words left his mouth, he wished he could take it all back because Steve beamed at him like it was the best thing he had heard all week.

“So I can take you out for a ride again?”

Bucky eyed him suspiciously. “Only if it’s necessary.”

Steve bit his lip, pressing Bucky up against the pole. He cocked his head. “Would you say it’s necessary if I pick you up tonight and take you out to dinner?”

Bucky’s mouth went a little dry with the way Steve was looking at him. He swallowed. “I guess it is.”

Steve leaned back, satisfied. “It’s our first official date then.”

“Hey! What about last night?”

Steve snorted. “Last night you didn’t even ask.”

“I brought flowers,” Bucky held up his hand and began counting things off with his fingers, “and we ate dinner. We talked, which can be interpreted as the _getting to know each other_ part. We kissed. We even danced. _And_ we slept in the same bed. We even said _I love you_!”

“I’ll give you the flowers, the kiss, and the ‘I love you’, but everything else was a typical day in our lives,” Steve said with a playful smile, placing a chaste kiss on Bucky’s cheek, “I appreciate it, but I’m taking you out for real tonight.”

“Now, if you don’t consider yesterday a real date, I swear I—”

Steve laughed, throwing his head back. His hand settled on Bucky’s hip. “Relax, Buck, I’m just teasing. _Thank you_ for yesterday. It’s one of the best dates I’d ever been on.”

Bucky stared at Steve for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not he was joking. “For real?”

Steve nodded. “For real.” He kissed Bucky again. “I love you.”

Bucky smiled. “I love you too.”

“Please stop making out in public,” came Clint’s voice. Steve and Bucky turned to see him walking past them with Natasha.

Natasha sent Bucky a small smirk. “Congratulations.”

Bucky blushed, knocking his head into Steve’s shoulder to try and hide his face. “Would you two get out?”

“Hey,” Clint said, “we just happened to run into you because you’re making out in _the parking lot_. Couldn’t you have at least gone to the bathroom?”

“We weren’t even making out,” Steve said, his arm wrapping around Bucky’s shoulder protectively. “We were just talking.”

“While grinding against each other?”

Bucky huffed, patting Steve’s chest. “Let’s just go.”

“Yeah. Okay. Alright.” Steve stepped back from Bucky, smoothing his clothes out. He let Natasha and Clint walk past them first, and when they were out of hearing distance, he grabbed Bucky’s hand and asked: “Do you want this to be a public thing or...?”

Bucky frowned. “Public to who?”

Steve shrugged, swinging Bucky’s hand a little as they walked. “Our co-workers. Our bosses. People who know you. People who know me.”

“Oh, that’s...” Bucky hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t really care. It’s, uh, up to you.”

“You’re okay with everyone knowing?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand. “I’m only asking because you’re... well, this is pretty new to you, you know?”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, not sure if he was understanding what Steve was saying. “It’s... new to you as well, isn’t it?”

“No. Well, kind of. This, us, together— _that’s_ new to me. But liking you and knowing I’m bi... that isn’t. Everyone knows I’m bi, and that’s okay with me.”

“You’re asking if I’m ashamed of being gay.” Bucky wasn’t even sure if he _was_ gay, but it never even crossed his mind that he’d want to keep his love for Steve a dirty little secret.

“What? No!” Steve paused, lips parted. “I just meant... some people take a while to... be comfortable? Sorry, I don’t know how to... it just—”

“I’m plenty comfortable,” Bucky hissed, a little (a lot) ticked off.

“Buck, I’m not saying you aren’t. I’m just asking if—”

“Well, don’t ask. No one’s gonna care if I’m open about it or not. Just say you don’t wanna be seen with me and I’ll back off at work,” Bucky muttered, letting go of Steve’s hand.

“ _Why_ would I not want to be seen with you?” Steve called out, angrily.

Bucky walked faster. “I don’t know!”

“Do _not_ walk out on me.”

“You can’t fucking order me around,” Bucky snapped. He made his way to the elevator, hurriedly closing the doors before Steve could get to him. There was a bang on the elevator door (probably Steve) before it went up.

Bucky seethed in the elevator, trying to justify his anger. Except deep down he knew he was being unreasonable. But he also couldn’t help but feel slightly defensive. He wasn’t _ashamed_ that he liked Steve, and it pissed him off that Steve would ever think it would be something he’d ever be ashamed of.

The elevator opened and Bucky stalked out of it with a scowl (whether the scowl was for himself or for Steve, he wasn’t sure). He pushed open the door, not even smiling when Natasha and Clint waved at him.

He dropped his bag on the ground, and Natasha walked over to him, ready to give him a speech. Before a word left her mouth, though, the door banged open and Steve glared at him, stalking forward with the determination of a man on a mission. Bucky blinked back at him as Steve placed his hands on his hips.

“I’m _not_ ashamed of you. I never was, I never will be.”

“That’s not what I’m mad about.”

Steve stopped. “What? But that’s what you said!”

“I know that’s what I said but that’s not what I’m mad about.”

“Uh, boys,” Natasha started, glancing around the people staring at them. Bucky and Steve ignored her and everyone else.

Steve clenched his jaw. “Then why _are_ you mad?”

“I’m mad because you think our relationship is something I’m not comfortable with. If I wasn’t comfortable, I wouldn’t have gotten into it in the first place!”

They both stared at each other, waiting. Steve’s resolve broke first, and he kissed Bucky with no hesitation, hands going to Bucky’s own waist and pulling him forward.

They both gasped, closing their eyes as they felt each other, tasted each other, showed everyone else what they meant to one another. Bucky smiled just before the kiss broke, and he licked his lips. “Well.”

“I’m not ashamed of us, Buck, and I’m sorry I assumed you would be. I love you so much, okay?”

“I love you too. I’m sorry I got mad. That was… I overreacted,” Bucky murmured. “I’m not ashamed either.”

Natasha stood next to them, close enough that Bucky could see her through his periphery. “Well, even if either of you were, it’s not a secret anymore.” She gestured at the rest of the room.

“It’s like a soap opera,” Clint said, wide-eyed.

Bucky finally took notice of everyone else, looking around cautiously. “Huh,” he said, “well, I guess we’re out.”

“Yeah, I guess we are,” Steve grinned, pulling him in for another kiss, much to the complaints of their friends.

* * *

“I love you?” Natasha asked when Steve went to the bathroom. The three of them along with Clint and Sam decided to eat lunch together today. She shifted closer. “ _Isn’t that too fast?_ ” she asked in Russian.

Bucky glanced at Clint and Sam, then back to Natasha. “ _Weren’t you the one pointing out I love him?_ ”

“ _Feeling it and saying it are different things_.”

Bucky shrugged. “ _If I feel it, I’ll say it_.”

“ _Y_ _ou don’t tell Clint you hate him_.”

“ _He knows_.”

Natasha put a hand to her face, leaning her elbows against the table in a universal sign of exasperation.

“What are you two talking about?” Clint finally asked. Sam was also looking at them expectantly, waiting for a reveal of their conversation.

Bucky went back to his food, nonchalantly answering: “You.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

“Natasha _did_ say your name,” Sam pointed out.

“Not. Fair,” Clint grumbled, stabbing his chicken for emphasis. Bucky raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on it.

Steve came back, sliding right next to Bucky with a small, giddy smile. Their knees touched under the table, and Bucky fed Steve a bite of his salad. Clint and Natasha shared a look, but Steve and Bucky couldn’t care less.

“James,” Natasha said.

“Natalia,” muttered Bucky, not looking at her.

She sighed.

Steve looked at her curiously, then back at Bucky. “What’s going on?”

Bucky waved it off, shoving another piece of salad into Steve’s mouth. “Ignore her.”

Natasha whacked him on the shoulder for that sentiment, but he just grinned and went back to business with his boyfriend (Though they haven’t discussed it, Bucky was _pretty sure_ Steve was his boyfriend—it wasn’t something that they needed to clarify. The ‘I love you’s were clarification enough.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a fight but they resolved it pretty quickly! Yay! Can't believe there's three more chapters left. I hope you guys are still enjoying!!


	15. Chapter 15

Two months into dating and the day before dress rehearsals, Steve and Bucky were invited to a bar to hang out with Clint, Sam, and Natasha. Bucky had frowned a little—bars weren’t really his thing. Clint and Sam were also not really his thing.

“Do you really not like Clint?” Steve asked while they both tugged their helmets off. Bucky could not believe he had ridden the motorcycle as often as he had. It was still a little scary every single time he hopped on.

“It’s not that I don’t like him.”

“What is it then?”

“I was jealous of him. Before.”

Steve froze, a hand over his bike’s handlebars. “Jealous.”

“Well, not romantically.” He frowned. “ _Maybe_ romantically. But I didn’t know that then. All I knew was that you were spending a lot of time with him and it made me jealous. So there’s that.”

“But now he has Natasha. And you have me. What’s—”

Bucky wrinkled his nose, shaking his head. “No. I’m not jealous _now_ , of course. I think it’s just... you know? I wasn’t too fond of him then. There’s no reason for me to be fond of him now.”

“He wants to be your friend, you know?”

Bucky snorted, crossing his arms. “I appreciate you trying to get us to get along, but that’s a load of bullshit, Steve.”

Steve shoved his keys into his pocket and sighed. “It’s not bullshit. It’s true. He told me. _Explicitly_.”

“Why the fuck would Barton want to be friends with me?”

The look Steve gave him could be interpreted as either _how stupid are you?_ or _you poor thing_. Bucky wasn’t entirely sure which it was. “There are plenty of reasons people want to be friends with you,” said Steve. “You’re kind—”

“Let me stop you right there. I am _not_ kind.”

“You are to me,” Steve argued.

Bucky huffed. “That’s because it’s _you_.”

Instead of being flattered like a normal person would be, Steve laughed. “You can’t get away that easy, Buck. You’re kind to your sister.”

“She’s my _sister_.”

“Not everyone gets along great with their siblings,” Steve pointed out. “Not everyone would fly back to America to be there for his pregnant sister even when he had everything he could ever wish for in Russia.”

“I didn’t have you,” Bucky tried again.

“ _Nope_ ,” Steve cut him off. “Seriously. You’re kind, okay? You think someone like Natasha would be friends with an asshole?”

Bucky grumbled, frustrated. They walked hand-in-hand towards the bar, and he relented. “Okay, fine, let’s say maybe I _am_ kind—it doesn’t matter. Most people don’t see me that way.”

“Maybe not. But the people who matter see you that way.” Steve smiled softly, then added: “You’re talented.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Steve, no one wants to be friends with talented people. Or people good at that they do. It reminds them that they’re shitty.”

Steve chuckled. “You’re better than me in dancing, and I know that. That’s okay with me. Not everyone desires to be the very best. We’re all capable of feeling proud of the accomplishments of others.”

“I’m not,” said Bucky, but the moment the words left his mouth, he knew it was untrue. Steve shot him a look that called him out as a liar, and Bucky pursed his lips. He felt proud when Steve, Natasha, or Becca succeeded in something or did something.

“You’re loyal.”

Bucky didn’t respond to that.

Steve pressed on. “You’re caring. You’re authentic. You’re trustworthy. You’re—”

“Steve, shut up,” Bucky said, cheeks burning. “Just shut up.”

Steve stopped walking, letting go of Bucky’s hand and holding Bucky’s shoulders instead. “People want to be your friend,” he said earnestly, “because you’re a great person.”

Bucky grunted. “Fine. I’ll try to get along with Clint.”

“And Sam, too,” Steve said.

Grimacing, Bucky nodded.

* * *

Clint Barton and Sam Wilson were, as it turned out, _okay_ people if Bucky chose to tolerate them a little more. The alcohol probably helped.

“You know, you two,” Clint was saying, his body slumped over the table. He had a lot to drink because, according to Natasha, they never went to a bar where Clint didn’t get wasted. Clint pointed at Steve and Bucky. “Never thought you guys would ever get it together.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Bucky laughed, taking a sip from his first bottle of beer. He and Steve were the most sober; Bucky because he only drank a lot if he was sad, and Steve because it didn’t help with his health.

Steve leaned into Bucky’s chest. “It’s true. I didn’t think it would ever happen either.”

Bucky pouted, tousling Steve’s messy hair. He nudged him. “My boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen.”

Steve blinked at him slowly. “Boyfriend.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh, yeah?” In the past two months, it had never actually come up, but Bucky was already under the impression it didn’t need to be brought up. “Right?” he asked, uncertain now that Steve was just staring at him.

“Yeah.” A slow smile spread across Steve’s face. “Yeah. Yeah. Boyfriend.”

A wave of relief washed over Bucky. “Boyfriend,” he repeated, smiling too.

“Get a room,” Sam said.

Steve kicked him under the table for that, but the smile didn’t fade from his face for the rest of the night.

Until the very last hour, at least.

* * *

Steve tensed mid-laugh, his eyes slipping past Bucky and to the bar. Bucky shifted to follow his gaze. At first he had no idea what had interrupted Steve’s light mood so quickly, then he saw a guy pushing a girl against the bar table, his hand grazing her thigh even though she was clearly trying to squirm away.

Before Bucky could even react, Steve was already on his feet and walking over with anger buzzing in him with every step. He tapped the guy’s shoulder, said something Bucky couldn’t hear, and then the guy responded with a smirk, which resulted in a fist in his face, courtesy of Steve.

Bucky’s eyes widened and he stood up, hurrying after Steve.

“Woah,” he said, catching Steve in his arms when he stumbled back from the guy’s retaliating punch. “Steve—”

“Stay out of it, Buck,” Steve heaved. He lunged at the guy again, but the guy managed to dodge the punch and hit Steve’s nose. “Jesus Christ!” Steve yelled, eyes watering. “Fuck you!”

“Steve,” Bucky tried. “Steve, just—”

His calls were unheeded. Steve went after the guy again, this time kicking him in the balls. Bucky would laugh if Steve wasn’t bleeding.

The bouncers came after that, telling Steve to get out. Steve spat at his opponent’s face. “Don’t fucking touch her,” he said, even though the girl already ran away the moment the fight started.

“Goddammit, Steve,” Bucky muttered once they were outside. “You’re in no condition to drive.”

“I’ll be fine,” Steve mumbled, and then cracked his nose back into place like he did it every day. Bucky stared at him like he was a maniac (because he was).

“Did that not hurt?”

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “I just need tissue.” Then he proceeded to wipe the blood on his sleeve.

Bucky grimaced, stopping Steve. Inside the bar, Clint was looking over at them through the window. Bucky motioned for the tissue on the table, mouthing the words too. Clint stared at him in confusion, nudging Natasha and Sam.

Natasha was the one who understood what Clint was saying. She lifted the tissue and Bucky nodded, telling her to bring it out.

“ _He’s a fighter_ ,” Natasha commented in Russian when she stepped outside.

Bucky snorted, taking the tissue from her and handing it to Steve. “ _Spasibo_ ,” he thanked. “You guys can stay, but we’re going to go home.”

Natasha eyed Steve. “Can he drive?”

“Well, he’s not drunk.”

“I’m fine,” Steve insisted, shoving the tissue up his nose.

“He says he’s fine.” Bucky knew arguing with Steve about this was futile. “So I guess he’s fine.”

“Let’s go so I can patch you up,” Bucky grunted, pushing Steve along. “You look like shit.”

“I’m fine.”

“You say that one more time and I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“The hospital’s not gonna do anything but give me an ice pack,” Steve said. He tilted his head up to keep his nose from bleeding out, and then blindly fumbled for his keys. Bucky rolled his eyes fondly and put his hand into Steve’s pocket to give him the keys. “Thanks.”

“You sure we shouldn’t just call a cab?” Bucky asked uncertainly.

“I can walk fine, see,” Steve demonstrated walking in a straight line. “I promise it’s fine. A little bleeding’s not gonna kill me.”

* * *

A little bleeding did not, in fact, kill Steve, but he still looked like shit once they were back home.

They went to Steve’s apartment, since that was where Bucky spent most of his nights these days. He took out ice from the freezer and wrapped it in a towel, handing it over to Steve.

“I’m taking a shower,” Bucky said, wrinkling his nose at the smell of alcohol on him. He tilted his head. “You gonna be alright?”

Steve hummed, sitting down on the couch.

There was a moment of silence between them, and Bucky tried to work up the courage to ask Steve to join him. This was something he had been working on in the past week, but couldn’t seem to say out loud. They hadn’t had sex yet, and Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve was waiting for him to initiate it or just had no interest.

Like always, Bucky turned and left the room.

He had clothes in Steve’s place, he even had his toothbrush and razor. It was like being roommates with Steve all over again but then this time they went to sleep with soft ‘I love you’s and woke up to morning kisses.

Yet sex was still not on the table. Bucky didn’t really _need_ it to happen; he had no idea what sex felt like and was thus content without it. However, he was pretty sure they’d reached the stage where most people would’ve had it.

Bucky gave it some thought in the shower, but, as always, he didn’t come up with a solution.

Steve was still nursing his black eye when Bucky came out with a towel wrapped around his hair. He shifted around on the couch, glancing up at Bucky with amused eyes (or eye, since the other one was too beaten up to show much emotion). For some reason, Steve always found amusement in the towel. 

“Why is it so funny?” Bucky huffed.

Steve chuckled, standing up. “It’s not funny. It’s amazing.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Why exactly?”

“Because it stays!” And with the naivety only Steve could have, he reached out and tried to tug the towel off Bucky’s head.

Bucky jumped back, yelping. “Don’t do that!”

Steve blinked, hand still in the air. “What?”

“You’re pulling on my hair!”

There was a confused pause, and then: “You have hair in _there_?!”

Bucky shoved him lightly. “Go take a shower, Stevie.”

Steve shook his head in disbelief as he went to get some clothes. “It’s in there?” he muttered to himself, walking away. Bucky snorted and sat on the piano, trying to figure out the notes to _Heart and Soul_.

“I hear that!” Steve yelled from the shower. “You suck!”

Bucky played the first eight notes again. “I know!” He squinted at the keyboard. “What’s next?”

“D!”

Bucky frowned, staring at the keyboard. “What the hell is D?”

“Re?”

“Oh.”

Bucky played the note as instructed, and Steve continued to yell out the right ones every time Bucky made a mistake.

They were far from becoming maestros, but Bucky was still having the time of his life.

* * *

The curiosity finally ate Bucky up later that night. He was wide awake, staring up at the ceiling he could not see in the dark. Steve was snuggled next to him, keeping the blanket all to himself.

“Buck?” Steve said sleepily, nuzzling further into Bucky’s chest. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Why aren’t we having sex?” Bucky blurted out.

Steve tensed, his hand curling into Bucky’s shirt. He was more awake now. “I didn’t think you wanted to,” Steve said softly.

Bucky frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just... I didn’t think you were attracted to me. Like that.”

“I’m attracted to you,” Bucky said, confused as to why Steve would think otherwise. “I’m just... well, you know, I don’t have any experience. There’s not really much for me to... want.”

Steve sighed. “I love you, Buck. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to.”

“But...”

“Tell me you want sex and we’ll have it. If you never want it, it’s okay.”

“I don’t _not_ want it. I’m just indifferent, is all. I’m okay with having sex. Maybe I’ll want it more once I know what it’s like.”

“So you think we should have sex?”

Bucky bit his lip. “Yeah...?”

Steve nodded a little, but it wasn’t one of confirmation—just acknowledgement. “Well, not tonight. Go to sleep first. Big day tomorrow.”

Technically, it was a big day _later_.

“It’s just a dress rehearsal. We’ll have, like, seven of them.”

“Eight,” Steve mumbled. “Semantics. I don’t care. Go to sleep.”

Bucky did not get a single ounce of sleep that night.

* * *

“This is your own fault,” Steve muttered as he fixed the collar of Bucky’s costume for the ballet.

Bucky groaned, waving Steve off as he gulped down the coffee in his hand. “At least I don’t have a black eye.”

“The eyebags can make up for that.”

“Shut up.”

Steve smiled, though it was a little awkward and tight. “We’re gonna talk later, right?”

“Sure,” said Bucky, even if talking was the last thing that he wanted to do. Talking about things only made them better or worse, and Bucky did not exactly like his chances. “But for now,” he looked down at his costume, “plaid skirts.”

“And striped, knee-high socks,” Steve agreed with a laugh.

Bucky smiled at Steve, admiring him for a moment too long that Steve began to blush under the scrutiny.

“Stop it, Buck.”

“You look great.”

“So do you.”

They stared at each other for a while and then Bucky leaned in to kiss his boyfriend. He closed his eyes, his fingers running through the hair on the back of Steve’s head.

“Alright, you two, you’ll have plenty of time for that later,” came Hill’s voice.

Bucky’s eyes widened and he jumped back, head whipping over to where his former teacher stood. “Ma’am.” He hadn’t seen much of her in the past few weeks, but it was likely she would be around more during dress.

“I keep telling you to call me Maria,” she said.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you only told me once, actually.” It was a really hard habit to break, and he wasn’t sure it was something he ever could.

Hill snorted. “Steve calls me Maria.”

“You’ve never directly been Steve’s teacher,” Bucky said.

Steve elbowed him in the ribs. “Just call her Maria, _dude_ , it’s not hard.” Then he combed his fingers through his hair and walked out of the dressing room like he hadn’t just said the weirdest word he ever could.

“Did you just call me _dude_?” Bucky called out after him, running to catch up with Steve. He had entirely forgotten Hill was even with them. “ _Dude?_ ”

Steve grinned. “I’m proving a point.”

If Steve thought he was showing Bucky a point, well Bucky was happy to report that all he was seeing was the cartesian plane and nothing else. “There is no _point_. You have no point.”

“If I can call you _dude_ , you can call Maria _Maria—_ "

Bucky scoffed. “You are so lucky you’re cute. Your brain makes no sense.”

“You love my brain.”

“Regrettably so.”

* * *

“You’re a disaster,” Steve laughed during one of their breaks. He handed over his water bottle to Bucky once Bucky had downed all of his own.

“Don’t,” Bucky mumbled around the bottle. “I danced well.”

“I know, but you’re still a mess off-stage.”

“Steve, I’m so tired, I’m gonna pass out.”

Steve giggled. It was a beautiful sound. “No one told you to stay up all night!”

Bucky jostled him a little, rolling his eyes. “I had a lot on my mind, alright?”

The laughter faded immediately, and Bucky wished he could take back what he said and replace it with some harmless banter instead. Steve’s jaw tensed. He looked at the floor. “We should talk.”

Bucky glanced around the rehearsal room. It wasn’t as full as it was five minutes ago, but there were still people lingering who may very well hear tidbits of their conversation. “Well.”

Steve took his hand. “We’ve got an hour. Come on.”

“Come on where?” Bucky asked as he replaced his ballet shoes with sneakers.

“Anywhere.”

* * *

Anywhere turned out to be an empty rehearsal room. They kept to the sides of the room, careful not to step on the main dance floor in their sneakers.

Steve locked the door behind him once he made sure that there was no one scheduled to use the room in the next hour.

“I’m pretty sure this is illegal,” Bucky muttered while he adjusted the skirt.

Steve just rolled his eyes, plopping down beside him. “We’re not in school, Buck. If someone wants to use the room, they’ll just tell us to get out.”

“You think I don’t want to have sex,” Bucky said, matter-of-factly. That was what Steve had implied last night, wasn’t it?

Steve pursed his lips. “Well, I’m in no position to say what you do or don’t want.”

“But you think you know.”

“It’s not... no, not really. I’m just saying that, to me, it doesn’t matter either way.”

“But you want to have sex.” Bucky paused, then added: “With me.”

There was a slight hesitance, and, for a moment, Bucky knew Steve considered lying. In the end though, he just nodded, slowly.

Bucky brought a hand up to his face, sighing. “We should try.”

“You want to?”

“I don’t _want_ to. I just... I don’t mind it? I can’t imagine it would be as fun for me, but I want to make you happy. If that includes sex then... it’s fine with me.”

“My hand’s enough to get me by. I don’t want to do things with you that you won’t enjoy.”

“It’s not fair for you to sacrifice sex just to be with me. I’ve got nothing to sacrifice back. What if you miss having sex? I can still give it to you. I just... I don’t think I’ll ever initiate it.”

“I’ve only ever had sex once, Buck. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Bucky thought about it a little. There was a good chance that Steve would really be okay with never having sex for the rest of his life, but Bucky didn’t want to take that choice away from him completely either. He took Steve’s hand in his, gripping it firmly.

“If you ever want to, just ask me. I’m _okay_ with it, Steve. I promise. I’m not just saying that because I’m scared you’d leave—”

A disconcerted frown appeared on Steve’s face, his eyebrows drawn together. “I wasn’t even thinking that, but now I am.”

Bucky shook his hand a little to get him out of that line of thought. “It’s true, alright? I’m okay with it. Just tell me you want to have sex and I’ll have sex—so long as you’ll be fine with the fact that I’ll likely never initiate it. I’m not really attracted to people... like that. I’m sorry. Even if it’s a really handsome Greek god.” He gave Steve a pointed look.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Steve murmured. “If we had sex, would you enjoy it?”

Bucky thought about that for a while. “Maybe,” he said. “Once we’re having it, I’ll probably get off and everything. I don’t really have a frame of reference, though.”

“We can try it. One day. It doesn’t have to be so soon.”

“Isn’t this the right time for most people?”

“Everyone’s got their own pace.”

“So we’re okay?”

Steve smiled softly. “Yeah. We’ve always been okay.”

That was a lie. They weren’t okay for eight years. But Bucky didn’t want to ruin the mood by saying that, so he nodded instead and tucked himself into the warmth of Steve’s chest, wishing to stay like this forever.

Alas, their break had to end, and they were called into rehearsal once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Bucky is ace. It never gets mentioned explicitly in the fic but it _is_ heavily implied in this chapter. He’s the type of ace to not actively seek out sex but would be ok with it happening if his partner wants it. 
> 
> I didn’t have it explicitly mentioned by Steve or Bucky because I didn’t think that asexual would’ve crossed Bucky’s mind when he thinks about the fact that he’s indifferent to sex, and I don’t think Steve would’ve wanted to label Bucky for him.
> 
> Anyway I just wanted to clarify this and say he’s ace in this fic :D. A commenter also suggested he may be demisexual, and though that hadn’t crossed my mind while I was writing the fic, it does make sense for his character, so it’s also a valid interpretation.


	16. Chapter 16

The question came to Bucky a couple nights later. He was a little surprised he didn’t wonder about it sooner. Though as soon as he asked, he wasn’t sure if it had been the right move to do so.

They were lying down on Steve’s bed, both wide awake, when he asked, “Have you told your mom about us?”

Although it was dark and all Bucky could see was Steve’s silhouette, he could feel Steve stiffen. “Uh.”

Bucky waited.

Steve looked at him, shifting around so he was leaning on his elbow. “My mom’s dead, Buck.” He said it with the nonchalance of a man who didn’t think about it often because it hurt too much.

Bucky swallowed, suddenly feeling a whole lot guilty. Here he was, constantly complaining about his parents, and Steve didn’t have _any_. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough. “Shit. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s... uh, it’s alright.” Steve flopped back down on the bed. “It’s been four years. It’s easy, most days, but sometimes it’s like I’m reliving it all over again and...”

“She’d be so proud of where you are right now,” Bucky said, unsure what the appropriate response was. He couldn’t really relate, but he knew for a fact that it was incredibly painful. Steve glanced at him with a shaky smile, nodding. 

It took a while for Steve to get his bearings back, and Bucky held his hand throughout. Steve didn’t cry—perhaps he was trying to be strong or maybe he had already run out of tears—but he was obviously upset nonetheless. A change of subject felt due, but before Bucky could say anything, Steve was beating him to it. 

“Can I ask you why you’re back?” Steve said. “I’ve been thinking about it. Why’d you decide to come back to America all of a sudden?”’

“Can’t it just be because I felt like it?”

Bucky couldn’t see Steve, but he could clearly imagine the comically doubtful look that crossed Steve’s face. He relented. “Fine. I came back ‘cause my sister’s pregnant, and the father’s an asshole who wanted nothing to do with the baby.”

“I never knew Becca was pregnant.”

“We can talk to her tomorrow about it, if you want.”

Steve tugged the blanket up to his chest. “I’m not sure. I’ve never really talked to her.”

“She already likes you better than me. It’s fine.”

Steve laughed, poking Bucky in the cheek. “Can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t like you.”

* * *

“How are you coming along?” Bucky asked his sister over the phone. “Must be pretty big, huh?”

“ _Not as much as you’d probably think_.”

“You’re, like,” Bucky did a little mental math. “Eight months. That’s big. Steve wanted to say hi, by the way.”

“ _You might wanna come visit me if you want to know_.” There was shuffling on Becca’s end and Bucky could hear her sitting down with a grunt. “ _I haven’t seen you since you and Steve got together_.”

With his foot, Bucky nudged Steve, who was sitting next to him on the couch watching _Shawshank Redemption_. Steve glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. Bucky said, “Want us to come visit?” The question was directed at Becca, but Steve knew Bucky was talking to him too, so he nodded.

“ _Sure, if you want_.”

“Those hormones kick in yet?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Hi, Becca!” he yelled, to compensate for Bucky’s brotherly love.

“ _Haha, very funny_ ,” Becca said to Bucky. “ _Tell Steve I said hi._ ”

Bucky put his hand over his mic, not actually covering it completely. “Becca says she hates you.”

“ _B_ _ucky!_ ” Becca screamed through the speakers, sending Bucky into a fit of laughter.

Steve rolled his eyes, reaching over to take the phone from Bucky. Bucky, with his hand shaking loosely as he laughed, let go of his phone easily. Steve put it on speaker. “Hey, Becca, ignore him.” He raised his eyebrows at Bucky, mouthing _you’re such a child_. “We’d love to come visit.”

“ _If you want to visit on your own, Steve, it’d be better._ ”

“Aw, c’mon, Becks,” Bucky said, pouting. “We’ll come visit next Saturday.”

Steve kicked him.

Bucky yelped. “Huh?”

“We’re in Greece next week.”

Bucky frowned, checking the calendar on his watch. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make sure he was reading it right. “What the fuck? Already?” He sighed. “Okay, we’ll see you this Saturday, then.”

Becca agreed, throwing unpleasant yet loving remarks at Bucky before they bid their goodbyes and the call dropped. Steve gave back the phone with a small, concerned frown. “Did you not pack yet or something?”

“Steve, we still have a week.”

“But we’ll be gone for a long time!”

“It’s just two weeks. Greece, Paris, then Shanghai.”

Steve huffed, but seemed to decide it wasn’t a point worth arguing. He leaned on the couch, held tilted back more than necessary. “Have you ever been to those places?”

“Not Greece. I’ve only been to Shanghai twice, though.”

“This is my first lead role,” Steve murmured, his voice so soft, Bucky barely even caught the words. “It’s not, like, a full tour, but... it’s still a big deal, you know?”

“Yeah...” Bucky said slowly.

Steve just snorted, laughing and then tucking his face into Bucky’s chest. “You don’t need to sympathize for my sake. You probably think this is ridiculous. You don’t even get nervous.”

Bucky frowned a little at that. “I get nervous.”

Steve stopped chuckling, looking up. “When have you ever gotten nervous?”

“When I brought you those flowers that first night we got together. I was nervous about that.”

There was a fond smile on Steve’s face, as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or just nod along. “Well, yeah, I don’t mean you _never_ get nervous, I just mean... not stage fright nervous, you know?”

Bucky decided it was better not to respond to that. He focused on Steve’s problem instead. He clutched his boyfriend’s hand. “You don’t need to be nervous. There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re amazing and you’ve been practicing real hard.” None of the things Bucky said were false in the least.

“Yeah...” Steve said, obviously doubtful. Bucky didn’t really know what to say next, so he just hugged Steve tighter, hoping that would be enough.

* * *

Becca called two days later while Bucky was in rehearsals. He had been talking to Maria, so Steve was the one picked up the phone. Just as Bucky was about to tell Maria more about Bolshoi, Steve was hurriedly tapping his shoulder.

“We gotta go now,” Steve hissed, shoving Bucky’s bag towards him.

Bucky blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Becca’s in labor!”

Clutching the bag to his chest, Bucky’s eyes almost popped out as he registered the words. “What? It’s too early!”

“She knows that,” Steve said, “you wanna see the baby or not?”

“Well, yeah, obviously!” Bucky ran a hand through his hair, already feeling a little frenzied from this conversation. “Jesus, let’s go.”

Maria stopped them before they could burst out of the room. “You boys should probably change first.” She gestured at the costumes that Steve and Bucky were still wearing.

Bucky waved his hand, not caring. “No time!”

“The baby isn’t going to burst out right this second. Go change. At least change your shoes.”

That made Bucky pause for a while. She had a point there. Running around in their ballet shoes wasn’t exactly ideal, and it could ruin the shoes. Plus, the costumes would be used for their performances, so it wouldn’t be nice to the costume department to make a mess of them.

Steve snapped him out of his thoughts. “Let’s go change, Buck, then we can take my bike.”

“We take your bike everywhere,” Bucky muttered, already hurrying to the dressing room.

* * *

“Who knew labor would be so long?” Bucky muttered as he took a drink out the vending machine. It had already been five hours and Becca was still upstairs, waiting for the dilation to reach 10 centimeters. “Steve, I’m bored.”

Steve, who looked like he was about to fall over his feet in exhaustion, just hummed absentmindedly. “We could watch a movie,” he suggested, eyes closed as he leaned against the vending machine.

Bucky gulped down the energy drink, handing over half to Steve. “Why are you so tired?”

“Didn’t really get much sleep.”

“Why?”

“I was practicing.”

Bucky frowned. He was sure Steve had been sleeping next to him the whole time. “How did I not notice?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You sleep like the dead.”

“You could’ve woken me up, you know?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I could’ve helped.”

Steve balked at that, lifting his head a little. There was a small defiance in his eyes that Bucky didn’t know how to read. “I don’t need your help.”

“I...” Bucky stared at Steve blankly. “Everyone wants me to teach them.” He just didn’t want to teach anyone. But if Steve had asked him for some advice, he would’ve gladly given it.

Steve stood straighter. “I don’t need your help,” he repeated, slower. 

“I’m just saying that if you wanted my opinion on—”

“Bucky—”

“It’s just an offer, if you want it—”

“Well, I don’t, alright?” Steve snapped. “I don’t need your help. I can get by on my own.”

“I never said you couldn’t.”

“It was implied.”

“But I just wanted to—”

“God dammit, Bucky, I know how to dance!” Steve yelled, his fist slamming on the vending machine rather hard.

Bucky jumped a little, stunned. “I didn’t mean to imply anything...” Bucky said, voice small and unsure. This was the first time Steve had been this angry since they became boyfriends. “I’m sorry, I just—”

Steve shook his head, turning around. “I’m taking a walk,” he grumbled. The _without you_ was silent, but Bucky could take the hint.

The moment Steve disappeared, the dread began to set in. This was their first ever fight. Did that mean they weren’t compatible as boyfriends after all? Was Steve so angry that he was going to break up with Bucky? Why was Steve even mad in the first place?

Bucky frowned, thinking that last question through. People usually wanted him to mentor them—especially the newbies back in Bolshoi. He always declined because he didn’t really have the time nor the patience, but this time it was _Steve._ Steve was Bucky’s boyfriend. Bucky loved Steve. He just wanted to help—maybe even help to make Steve feel more confident about his dancing.

Bucky made his way back into Becca’s private room. Her best friend was there with her. “How are you?” he asked glumly, sitting on the uncomfortable chair.

“Where’s your other half?” Becca said, in a teasing tone that knew nothing of the horrible feeling that had settled in Bucky’s chest.

He forced a smile. “He just went to buy some food.”

Becca raised an eyebrow. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he said. His shaky voice made it clear he wasn’t.

Becca nodded slowly, looking at her best friend. “Could you get me a bottle of water?” she asked, even if there was a half-full bottle of water right next -to her. Her best friend just nodded, leaving the room.

“What happened?” Becca asked again once they were alone.

Bucky ran a palm over his face. “We’ll probably break up.” He tried to be nonchalant about it, but the tears that were threatening to spill in his eyes completely ruined that act. “Got into a fight.”

“That bad?”

Bucky huffed. “We got into a _fight_. He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“But—”

“Can we not talk about it?” Bucky mumbled. “What are you naming the kid?”

“I already told you.”

“Humor me?”

She did.

* * *

Bucky had always been the one Becca wanted to be with her in the delivery room. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be Rumlow, and Bucky had no intention on leaving her to do it alone.

But he had also been imagining Steve to be there with him, maybe smiling at each other as they thought about their future. That maybe one day they could have a family too.

That was all down the drain now, so Bucky focused on Becca. “You got this,” he tried as she screamed in pain again. No matter how painful it was, she still found the energy to shoot Bucky a glare. Her face was beet red and her hair was messily strewn across her face.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” she growled.

“It’s not my fault someone is tearing through your body!” Bucky exclaimed, wincing in pain as Becca gripped his hand harder. The doctor gave him an odd look. He assumed it was because husbands didn’t normally insult their wives as they gave birth. Well, too bad.

“Barnes, I swear—”

“Don’t call me Barnes. You’re Barnes too.”

“Bucky!”

“Can you just focus on giving birth?”

She groaned, pushing again, then said: “Not with your yapping.”

“Want me to leave?” Bucky asked, even though they both wanted him to be here. She just clenched his hand tighter. 

Becca was still screaming, but after a little while, it slowed down, and the doctor lifted the baby up. _That’s disgusting_ , was Bucky’s first thought. It was a lot of blood. He couldn’t stop staring, though.

He smiled as the doctor went to clean the baby, glancing at Becca, his expression soft. “So, did it hurt?”

She rolled her eyes, gazing after her baby. “Can I see him?”

“Here you go,” the doctor said, carrying a small bundle of life in her arms and handing it over to Becca. Becca made a cooing noise as she took little Damian. She was crying a little, stroking Damian’s blanket. Bucky couldn’t help but smile as well, waving his index finger over Damian’s face.

“Hey, little guy, I’m your uncle Bucky,” he said with a grin. “I’m way cooler than your mother.”

Becca was too happy to scold him. She just sniffled, held him closer, and let Bucky be the older brother he was.

* * *

They took Damian straight to the NICU since he was premature. Becca was carted back into her room, and her friend was there waiting. Bucky excused himself after a while. He was riding quite a high of emotions.

In all honesty, he had assumed that Steve had already left, and that perhaps they would see each other again tomorrow and go back to being antagonistic. Except Steve hadn’t left. He was waiting in the lobby, head buried in a newspaper he did not appear to be reading.

Bucky turned back around. If he talked to Steve, it could finalize their break-up, and he was not ready to have that conversation—not when his nephew was _just_ born.

There was a rustle of newspapers, and Bucky sped up his escape. But Steve was calling him. “Buck, wait!”

Bucky tried to walk faster, but a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.

“If you’re gonna break up with me, can you at least wait until tomorrow?” was the first thing out of Bucky’s mouth when he turned to face Steve.

With a hand paused in the air, Steve blinked, his lips parted in fake confusion. Why did he have to pretend to be so kind when he was about to break up with Bucky? Steve put his hand on Bucky’s arm, and Bucky braced himself.

“Why exactly are we breaking up?” Steve asked.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Uh, what? Wasn’t that your plan?”

“No. I was just going to apologize for snapping at you.” Steve frowned. “Why would I break up with you?”

“Because we fought? We’re incompatible? I did something wrong? I don’t know! You were gone for hours, Steve. I was pretty damn convinced you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Okay, I _was_ mad, and if you probably ask to teach me again like I’m some rookie, I _will_ get mad again.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “My ego isn’t the size of the moon—”

“I’m really in no position to judge if it was.”

Steve glared at him without much heat. “But I really don’t need your... mentorship or whatever. I made it this far, haven’t I?”

Bucky nodded. “I know that. I just wanted to help... get rid of your jitters or something. It was the only solution I could come up with. I’m not really... I’m not really that good at the whole comforting thing.”

“Let me guess, I’m the first person you’ve ever offered to teach?”

“Uh, yeah?” He wasn’t wrong.

Steve snorted, leaning into Bucky’s chest. “You sure have quite a way of showing your love, I’ll give you that. If I wasn’t so stressed, I probably would’ve laughed. Except I was— _am_ —stressed, and anything remotely related to the upcoming performance is eating me up alive.”

That was perfectly understandable, and an immense amount of relief washed over Bucky when he finally realized this wasn’t the end of anything. He smiled, almost giddy, despite Steve’s troubles. “Well just... don’t think about it today,” he suggested. “You can come meet Damian. Or at least wave at him, since he’s in the NICU and probably won’t be saying much.”

“Yeah... “ Steve said with a small laugh. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around during the birth.”

Bucky waved him off. “The doctor would’ve probably kicked you out anyway.”

They went to the NICU first, and Bucky introduced Steve to his nephew. Damian didn’t reply, of course, he just stared at them beyond all the tubes and wires attached to him. After that, they made their way back to Becca’s room, chatting endlessly.

Bucky was too distracted, his eyes focused on Steve and nothing else, which was why he completely missed the thing that made Steve stop in his tracks, eyes going wide by a fraction. Bucky’s laughter faded as he followed Steve’s gaze and saw Rumlow talking to Becca’s friend.

“Is that who I think it is?” Steve asked.

“He said he didn’t want anything to do with the baby!” Bucky clenched his free hand.

Steve jolted. “ _That’s_ the father? _Rumlow_? Please tell me he’s grown as a person.”

“Grown worse, for sure.” Bucky shook his head, letting go of Steve’s hand and marching up to Rumlow. He pointed a finger at Rumlow’s chest. “You. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“That’s my sister you’re trying to harass, so you can damn well bet it’s my fucking business.”

Rumlow spoke up first. “I want to see my fucking kid.”

“Oh, so _now_ you want to see him?”

Bucky stumbled as Rumlow shoved him away. Steve stepped in, putting a hand to steady Bucky while he glared at Rumlow. “Don’t touch him.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Rumlow spat. Bucky would’ve laughed at the lack of recognition if he wasn’t so pissed off.

Steve smiled, all fake, even extending a hand to Rumlow in a pass for politeness. “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you. I believe we’ve met before.”

Rumlow just frowned at him, not taking the offered hand. “I don’t think we have.”

Bucky stifled a small laugh. Rumlow likely wouldn’t have recognized Steve because of his sudden growth, but Bucky assumed he’d recognize the name, at least. “My boyfriend,” Bucky supplied helpfully.

Rumlow looked between the two of them, a small realization dawning on him. “You’re that twink!” he said to Steve. Then, to the both of them: “I always knew you two were a bunch of fags.”

It took all of Bucky’s strength to keep Steve from tackling Rumlow right there in the hospital hallway. “We’re in a hospital anyway,” Steve insisted, still trying to get to Rumlow. He wriggled in Bucky’s arms, but not really using his full strength.

“Becca doesn’t want to see you,” her friend said to Rumlow, then slipped back into the room with a slam of the door.

Bucky smirked, managing to calm Steve down a little. “I think it’s time for you to say goodbye for good.”

“I have the right to see my son.”

“You gave up the right when you said you wanted him aborted.”

“I _will_ take custody,” Rumlow growled, leaning closer as though it would make him look more intimidating (it didn’t).

Bucky snorted. “Do you even have the money to take this to court?” He didn’t even wait for a reply. He just grabbed Steve’s hand and went inside the room, holding the handle so Rumlow couldn’t open it if he wanted to.

Steve still looked a little frazzled. He glanced at Becca. “Brock Rumlow? Really?”

She groaned, looking away. “I was drunk!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter tomorrow!


	17. Chapter 17

After a few more dress rehearsals in the States, Steve managed to be a little more confident in his abilities. Bucky never offered to teach him again, but he did make sure to tell Steve he was doing great every now and then. Steve would blush, but Bucky didn’t care—he just had to make sure that Steve believed in himself as much as Bucky did.

The following week, they were in the airport with the rest of the crew, and Bucky was staring between his and Steve’s ticket in distaste.

“It’s only a few hours, Buck,” Steve was trying to assure him. He tried to take Bucky’s attention away from the seating arrangement, but it was to no avail.

“ _Eleven_ ,” Bucky muttered. “I am _not_ staying away from you for eleven hours. The seats are too far apart!”

“We can’t ask everyone for their seat number then ask them to switch. That’s a lot of people to ask, and we gotta board soon.”

Bucky huffed. “Either I’m switching or you are. It’s gonna happen.”

How difficult could it be?

* * *

Very difficult, it turned out, but Bucky wasn’t backing down.

The moment they stepped on the plane and found their respective seats, Bucky found out there were two problems:

  1. Bucky was seated next to Director Fury. Bucky had about two conversations with the man, and he did not seem like the type of person to switch seats with someone for funsies. (Although Bucky would insist it _wasn’t_ for fun, and he _needed_ to sit next to Steve.)
  2. Steve was seated next to a civilian. Said civilian looked like she was ready to strangle anyone who so much as looked at her. (Bucky had already seen her yell at the flight attendant who told her to stow her baggage under her chair.)



Bucky eyed Fury carefully, trying to gauge the man’s mood. He might’ve been staring a bit too long because Fury’s one eye glared at him.

“Are you going to stare at me the whole flight, Barnes?”

“No, sir,” he said (respectfully, he might add), “I was just wondering...”

“If I would be so kind as to switch seats with Rogers?”

“Well—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I like it here. There’s leg space.” To prove a point, Fury stretched out his legs in front of him.

Bucky sighed. Right. They were near the emergency exits. He looked back to where Steve was, but there were way too many people now, and Steve was being blocked by a bunch of heads and chairs.

Time for plan B.

“Excuse me,” he said as a flight attendant passed by, “are there two empty seats left on this plane? I got a separate seat with the guy I came here with.”

The flight attendant informed him that no, there were no available seats left. Bucky sat back in his chair with a huff.

Before Bucky could come up with a plan C, Steve was suddenly making his way to them, his carry-on luggage in hand. He sheepishly smiled at Fury. “Director, can I just—"

“I think I liked it better when you two hated each other,” Fury said. From his expression, Bucky couldn’t tell if he was joking. In all honesty, Bucky didn’t think Fury would know about anything that went on between him and Steve. “Not this lover boys shit,” Fury grumbled.

Steve blushed, but he still had a hint of determination in his eyes. “The lady next to my seat’s really kind.” Which was a total lie, but Bucky was desperate enough that he managed to keep a straight face.

“Really?” asked Fury. He saw right through the bullshit.

Steve was a shit liar, yet he pressed on regardless. “Yes.”

After a five second staring match, Fury finally sighed and stood, hefting up his bag. “Only because I like you Rogers.”

“Hey!” Bucky exclaimed. “Do you not like me?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be trying to get away from you,” Fury said, making his way down the aisle and out of earshot.

Bucky pouted, helping Steve with the bag. “Is he joking?”

“Who knows?” Steve chuckled, putting the seatbelt on. “Least we’re next to each other now, right?”

“ _It’s only a few hours, Buck_ ,” Bucky said mockingly, trying to imitate the deepness of Steve’s voice.

Steve shoved him playfully. “I do _not_ sound like that!”

“Point is. I’m right.”

Steve sighed dramatically, pushing up the arm rest between him and Bucky (Bucky didn’t bother to tell him a flight attendant was going to ask them to put it back down before take-off). “Fine. I couldn’t stay away from your ugly mug.”

Bucky nudged him. “Ugly, huh?”

Steve smirked. “Alright. You’re not too bad.”

* * *

Their hotel had a fantastic view, but Bucky refused to enjoy it alone. He only took two steps into his room, before he turned around, dragging his luggage with him to find Steve.

Except Steve seemed to have the same idea, since Bucky met him trudging down the hallway, luggage in hand.

“I was just about to come find you,” Bucky said when they met in the middle.

Steve blinked, looking back at his room, then to Bucky. “I was thinking that too.”

“So...”

“We’re nearer to your room.”

Bucky glanced back. “By, like, two doors.”

“Doesn’t really matter. Our rooms look exactly the same.”

“I know.”

“So...?”

They stared at each other for a moment then began to walk back to Bucky’s room. The bed was only meant for one person, but then again, Steve and Bucky had spent a lot of their time together sleeping in beds meant for one person. This wasn’t too much of a change.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Bucky asked as he began to take off his shoes and socks.

“I don’t know,” Steve mumbled. He hadn’t really moved much since he dropped his luggage. He simply stood by the window, watching the sea. “Hey, Buck?”

“Hm?”

“What do you say we move in together?”

“Into this hotel?” Bucky joked, though his heart was pounding a little. “Steve, I know we’re not poor, but I don’t think we’ve got that kind of money.”

Steve rolled his eyes, leaving the window to sit beside Bucky. “You know what I mean, jerk.”

“You still wanna stay in your apartment?”

“We could find a bigger place.” Steve wrinkled his nose. “Then maybe a bigger bed.”

“How big of a house do you want?”

Steve blinked. “House?”

Bucky backtracked immediately, feeling bad for springing that on Steve out of nowhere. “Is that not what you—"

Steve was shaking his head before Bucky could even finish the sentence. “No! No. Of course I want that. I just didn’t think you’d be... you’d... I thought you would think it’s too fast.”

“It’s not a marriage, Steve. It’s okay.”

“A house is kind of like a marriage, Buck.”

“Well,” Bucky pursed his lips, “okay, maybe, but do you really think we’ll break up?”

“No, of course not, but...”

“ _I_ _f_ we break up—” and that was going to be a big if, if Bucky had any say in it, “—we can sell the house. It’ll be fine, Stevie.”

Steve swallowed, nodding slightly. “Okay. We can get a house when we’re back home.” He pulled Bucky into embrace—whether it was for his comfort or Bucky’s wasn’t clear, perhaps both. “This is a big step, Buck.”

“I know. It’s a step I’m only willing to take with you.”

* * *

Steve tripped during their final dress rehearsal, and as a result his nerves skyrocket. Bucky tried (and failed) to calm him down backstage. Steve bit his nail, staring out into the massive area of the Odeon of Herodes Atticus as he watched people begin to spill in.

“This place is too beautiful, Buck.”

“So are you,” Bucky said firmly, pulling Steve’s hand away from his mouth. “Listen. You’re gonna do great, okay?” Steve still looked doubtful. Bucky sighed. “If you fall on-stage, I’ll fall _off_ the stage. That way they’ll be more concerned about me than your little mishap. Would that make you feel better?”

Steve finally looked at him, eyes adoring. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no skin off my back. It’s fine.” Except Bucky embarrassing himself wasn’t _really_ fine. But for Steve, he would do it. 

Steve smiled. “I’m so lucky you’re my boyfriend.”

Bucky shrugged, squeezing Steve’s shoulder in quiet support. “I’d have done it even if we were just friends. I’d do anything for you.”

“Lucky me.” Steve leaned in closer. “I’d kiss you, but we’re wearing make-up.”

“A tiny kiss isn’t gonna ruin it,” Bucky said. To make a point, he pressed a chaste kiss on Steve’s lips, pulling away after a brief second. He grinned when he saw that Steve’s make-up was still intact. “See.”

Steve brightened. “Do that again.”

“Please stop before this turns into a make-out session,” said Natasha, already decked out in her outfit as the Sylph. Clint stood next to her, grinning proudly at everyone even though he wasn’t part of the production. Bucky could appreciate his enthusiasm, but not the interruption.

“We weren’t going to make out,” he told them, taking his hands off Steve.

“I gotta take a picture of you three!” Clint insisted, nudging Natasha towards Steve and Bucky. “Then maybe Steve and Nat. Then Bucky and Nat. Then Steve and Bucky.”

“Alright, you’re excited, we get it,” Bucky muttered, though he was smiling a little too.

After they took pictures, Clint motioned for Sam to come join them, then they took more pictures. And then Steve asked one of the other dancers they didn’t really know to take a picture of them with Clint. Then more pictures were taken until Bucky finally felt like his lips were going to fall off from all the smiling.

Bucky held Steve’s hand as they waited for the audience to settle down. It was going to be beautiful, performing with Steve once again—but this time, they were much more well-rehearsed and prepared.

The curtain that ABT had put in front of the stage (it had not come with the place) was already closed, and a small light was already flashing on the chair on-stage. Bucky nudged Steve towards the chair with a grin.

“That’s where you’re gonna be.”

“And you’re going to be hiding in a bunch of hay,” Steve chuckled, though his palm was sweating quite badly in Bucky’s hand.

“Stevie, you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah...”

“Just watch out for those pliés.”

“There are a _lot_ of them. I still can’t believe I messed that one up.”

Before Steve could rub a hand over his face, Bucky grabbed it, shaking his head. “You really don’t wanna go out there looking like a clown.”

“Oops. Right. Forgot about the make-up.” Steve tucked his other hand away. He stared at the stage and said: “You know, I always believed Gurn was the real main character.”

Bucky snorted. “Why?”

“I mean, , Ruben—me—well... he does everything wrong. Everything goes to shit for him. Then we see, in the end, that Gurn gets Effie, and _he’s_ doing great.”

“Doesn’t make Gurn the main character. He just gets the happy ending.”

“Are you saying not all main characters get a happy ending?”

“Of course not.” Bucky shrugged. “Also, if we’re talking real life, we’re all the main characters of our own stories. Not everyone gets their happy ending, do they?”

Steve hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. I suppose.” He smiled at Bucky. “Pretty sure I got mine though.”

“Really?” Bucky asked, smiling wide too.

“Yeah, of course.” Steve looked at him, kissing him again. “I love you, Buck.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

They waited a few more minutes before they were finally signaled to take their starting positions. Steve took his place on the chair while Natasha hovered over him. Bucky made himself comfortable in the fake stack of hay on the other end of the stage.

The orchestra began to play their tune, and Bucky soon found himself imagining what Steve and Natasha’s dance looked like (he couldn’t really see much of it from where he was). Then, after the Sylph had gone up the chimney, Steve was rushing over to where Bucky was, pulling him out of the hay and rousing him from his ‘sleep’.

Bucky did his part, denying having seen any magical creature, and then he went to pick up the broom as Steve danced around. He could barely contain his proud smile as Steve confidently leapt across the stage doing a _saut de chat_ , and then following it with pirouettes. It was beautiful, what Steve was doing, and although the happiness may be an act, Bucky was sure that Steve _was_ actually happy.

* * *

Bucky watched from the wings as Steve danced his final scene, slowly falling to the floor in grief. Once it was over, the audience clapped, some of them even standing. The curtain fell over for a brief moment, just long enough for the cast to get their bearings and join him on-stage.

The corps de ballet bowed first, followed by the other cast. Bucky and Janet (the dancer playing Effie) were second to the last. As Bucky went to the center of the stage and bowed with flourish, the audience’s cheers got even louder, and by then, most of the theater was standing.

Of course, when Steve and Natasha entered, the cheers became almost deafening. Steve motioned to the orchestra conductor and then grabbed Natasha and Janet, each in one hand. Bucky grinned as he held hands with two casts members, raising their hands in sync and bowing.

He didn’t even wait until they disappeared into the wing to catch up with Steve.

“Stevie, I love you!” he laughed joyously. When they were hidden from the audience, he pulled Steve into a kiss, unable to wait. “You did amazing!”

Steve grinned too, his breathing still a little ragged. “That _was_ great. Holy shit. I did that. Buck!” He shook Bucky by the shoulders. “I did that!”

Bucky nodded. “I know! I know!”

Steve bounced on his heels some more, gripping Bucky excitedly. “Wow,” he said as he finally began to calm down. “Wow. That was... that felt _amazing_.”

The last time Bucky was backstage with Steve after a performance, things didn’t go so well. Bucky wanted to overwrite that memory. Replace it with something better. He pulled Steve closer, leaning his forehead against Steve’s as he whispered: “You know, if you kiss me now, I’d be more than enthusiastic.”

“Yeah?” Steve said, hushed. His eyes were wide from the adrenaline and excitement. He breathed deeply. “You know, I’ve always been enthusiastic about kissing you. I always will be.”

“I love you,” Bucky breathed.

I love you too.”

In the middle of the bustling cast and crew, Steve pushed Bucky against the wall and kissed him, and it was the most beautiful feeling in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Wow. Thanks for all the readers that followed this story 'till the end! And thanks to [HeyBoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyBoy) for the art and support and thanks to my beta reader [Ree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weethreequarter)!
> 
> Special thanks to [Mitsususu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitsususu/pseuds/Mitsususu) for commenting on every single chapter and almost always being one of the first lol. And for even messaging me on Tumblr to talk about the fic! 
> 
> Hope you guys stick around for my next fic for the Shrunkyclunks bang! (which i can't talk about yet). Love you all <3
> 
> Meanwhile, you can chat me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wintersabbath) to scream about Stucky!


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